


Caesar's Comet

by YellowDistress



Series: What We Are [5]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Pre-Iron Man 1, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Young Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-09-27 09:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17159681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowDistress/pseuds/YellowDistress
Summary: Series of oneshots following Peter's childhood.(Part of my 'What We Are' series)





	1. Father's First Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! So I feel I should explain what this is. I've been considering doing this for a while but @Mrs_N_Uzumaki gave me the push I needed to actually do it! For 'What We Are' I have all these ideas for oneshots and I really wanted a place to dump them all, so this is where I'm going to be posting them! I'll have the story listed as complete, but there will be occasional updates whenever I get inspiration for oneshot ideas. Hope you all enjoy this oneshot, and I hope you all have a Merry Christmas for those who celebrate it and Happy Holidays! ❤

_December 2005_

 

Tony was the product of a Scrooge and a Who from Whoville.

 

It flipflopped like that forever, two or three lifetimes, because his father had never paid much mind to Christmas but his mother had always adored the holiday like she looked forward to it all year round. Tony didn’t know which one he was…As a young child he certainly liked the idea of Christmas, because Christmas meant gifts. That changed as he got older, he supposed, the entire world changed, but his mother always made sure Christmas was something special and it was maybe one of the only days of the year his father gave him any sort of undivided attention.

 

The garlands, the lights, everything, he remembered watching his mother hang them and for the things that were too large for her to do herself, she paid people to do it. Tony knew his father viewed it as a waste of money, but the man never voiced it possibly because he had been afraid of Maria’s response. The woman could be a spitfire when need be, but she was as gentle as a person came all at the same time. It was an odd mixture.

 

Tony remembered she favored the multicolored Christmas lights, the ones that clashed even though Tony’s father had absolutely despised them, feeling they were too gaudy to be put on their house. It was sort of odd, the things that stuck with Tony for so long. The things that lived inside of him, and what he remembered of his parents. It had all disappeared after their deaths, after December 16th…And just days later he was having Christmas, alone.

 

Honestly, Tony had hated Christmas since then.

 

It was just this sort of reminder, a jab from the universe about how cruel it could be. Sure, things could be worse. He could be starving, homeless, but instead he was orphaned right before Christmas and in the grand scheme of things that wasn’t the worst he could suffer through. But suffering was still suffering at the end of the day and Christmas had gotten the short end of the stick, compared to other holidays. At least with New Year’s he had an excuse to get blackout drunk.

 

All in all, that first Christmas without his parents had been the worst of his life.

 

But then Christmas of 2005 arrived like a newborn baby, screaming.

 

Or rather, a four-year-old named Peter.

 

The thing was, the whole reason Peter even existed was because of some Christmas party Tony had gone to, to get wasted and had ended up meeting Mary Fitzpatrick. He would have been lying if Mary wasn’t just a way to forget and she had been young and beautiful and her eyes were so green – Tony didn’t forget – not to mention the several drinks Tony had, had that night to make him feel more confident and she had only just broken up with her longtime boyfriend so the two of them could go on a break from each other.

 

A lot of events led up to Peter’s existence. A lot.

 

Tony could pinpoint the exact moment of panic when he realized he would actually have to remain sober on the holiday and participate in the more socially acceptable festivities. It had come with a simple question at the end of November from Pepper, something about her ordering a tree for the Malibu house and getting Peter to write ‘a list to Santa’ and Tony had nearly shit himself because…Santa. Santa, Christmas, writing wish lists…It was stuff he didn’t think about, and hadn’t thought about in so long that it sounded like a foreign concept.

 

Did kids still even do that?

 

Apparently, they did, because when Pepper had said something to Peter, the kid had known exactly what he wanted to ask for. And as the holiday drew closer, and Tony had failed to properly wrap Peter’s presents, prompting Rhodey and Pepper to rewrap most of them, Tony became more terrified of Peter’s expectations. Terrified of messing it up. Terrified of what could go wrong and analyzing every little thing he did, down to the wrapping paper he used.

 

But the holiday crawled up on him, like a dreaded meeting, and he should have been excited about his first Christmas with Peter. Most parents seemed ecstatic for their baby’s first Christmas, but Tony was scared. The last several days leading up to the twenty-fifth he barely slept, just stared at the ceiling and listened to Peter’s breathing beside him, and the week before Christmas they mailed in Peter’s long letter to Santa.

 

Then Pepper had informed him she wouldn’t be there for Christmas morning and that it was up to Tony, because after all, Tony was the adult. He and Peter were a family and families typically spent Christmas morning alone together. Which made everything worse, because he had at least hoped to have someone there to help. Someone to guide him on this never before experienced journey that he was so afraid to embark on.

 

Most of Christmas Eve was a blur. It made his hands shake though, it made him want to drink, but he wasn’t going to drink. The anniversary had passed rather painfully, but this was so much worse, and it was the first Christmas Eve he was sober since before 1991. Sometimes sobriety felt like a never-ending struggle, it wasn’t a destination or an existence, it was an uphill climb, especially on nights like that night. And as Tony crawled into bed, Peter was jumping, causing the mattress to bounce as he exclaimed in a sing-song voice, “Santa’s coming! Santa’s coming!”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony hooked his hands up under Peter’s arms, pulling him down with him, “But if you don’t sleep he doesn’t come, right? That’s the rule.”

 

Peter let out a high-pitched squeal and Tony wondered sometimes why the kid did things like that, if he just did it to make Tony jump in surprise, but Peter rolled over onto his stomach, pulling the blankets over his head. Peter peeked out from under them, eyes wide as he said, “If we stay up we could catch him!”

 

“Catch him?” Tony asked, “No…You can’t catch Santa.”

 

Peter threw the blanket off his head and exclaimed, “The skeleton did!”

 

“Oh…” Tony blinked, “No, that was just a movie and besides, you don’t want to catch Santa, right? He has…elves and stuff that would probably not like that very much.”

 

Peter poked his lower lip out but nodded nonetheless in agreement. Peter put his chin on his hand and propped his elbow up on a pillow as he questioned, maybe forgetting to use his inside voice, but Peter sometimes forgot. The kid was capable of talking someone’s head off if Tony wasn’t careful. “Will Santa bring you a present?”

 

Tony shook his head, “Santa brings presents to kids.”

 

“But Santa always brought my mama something,” Peter argued, “Does he just not bring daddies presents?”

 

Tony wanted to sigh. Maybe those gifts from ‘Santa’ to Mary had actually been from Richard. Sometimes Peter asked questions that were hard and made Tony squirm, searching answers. He wanted to have all the right replies, and for everything to be perfect, it was just incredibly difficult at times. Because Tony didn’t know everything, and Peter had been raised in a completely different household at one point. He didn’t know how things used to be, and the way they had to be now.

 

“Yeah…we’ll say that,” Tony said.

 

Peter didn’t push the issue further and instead rolled onto his back. He murmured, “Night-Night.”

 

“Goodnight squirt,” Tony muttered. Because he knew this was the threshold of where anxiety would grip him. He listened to Peter for a really long time, just to his breathing, like it was the in and out of a song. The kid sometimes moved too much in his sleep, but it appeared he was like a rock, solid, and unmoving and Tony waited a little longer than he probably had to before he crawled out of bed. Adding a few hours for good measure.

 

Tony retrieved the gifts from where he had been hiding them in the crawl space of the extra bedroom closet. There were tons of them, and Tony supposed maybe it was a bit too much for a four-year-old but he didn’t know how any of it worked. He didn’t know how many gifts Peter needed. The kid had asked for some weird things on his list, and then some boring things like Legos, so Tony added things that he thought would be cool as well. That was something he had actually enjoyed, picking out things he thought Peter would like. He had always been better at buying things for people.

 

He carried them down, stacks at a time, and it took a few hours to get things absolutely perfect and situated in the way Tony wanted. Tony might have been flawed beyond repair in some aspects, but he seemed to be good at this part of the ‘thing’. Even if he hadn’t wrapped the presents himself because he had been so terrible at it. He didn’t go back to bed until things were beyond acceptable and the M&M cookies were eaten, and the milk was gone.

 

Maybe the strive for perfection was instilled by Howard or it was him trying to make everything up to Peter. His lack of identity as a father was slowly becoming something like an existence. He was Becoming. And Becoming was rough, and had many trials, but most of the time it felt nice to be a dad. It was sort of selfish that he enjoyed the fact that Peter needed him, even if it was terrifying at times, because no one had ever needed him around before.

 

When Tony got back into bed, Peter hadn’t even stirred. He was in the same position he had been in before Tony left and he laid close, eyes shutting. He could probably still squeeze in a few hours of rest before the kid woke up and then the festivities wouldn’t be painful, and he could enjoy himself and watch Peter open everything.

 

It hadn’t gone that way though, because not even four hours later, Peter was bouncing on the bed, gripping at Tony’s shoulders with warm hands. Tony’s eyes snapped open and Peter was leaning over him, smiling so wide it was almost frightening and funny at the same time. Peter exclaimed gleefully, “It’s Christmas!”

 

Tony had never heard such a shriek escape his kid before. Tony sat up slowly and Peter was pulling his hand, though he wasn’t really help much to get Tony up. Tony blinked blearily at the boy, before glancing out the window and he saw that the sun was barely over the horizon in the distant ocean. He had been tempted to bring Peter to the mountains, for the sole purpose of giving Peter the perfect white Christmas. But snow was annoying and Peter was so small, he was worried about the kid being that cold. And Peter seemed unbothered, which he had expected more disappointment from a New Yorker.

 

“Daddy get uuuup!”

 

Tony’s head whipped back towards his son. Peter was still tugging on his hand, vehemently trying to get him to the edge of the bed. Tony pacified, “Okay, okay, I’m old you know, it takes me a minute to get out of bed.”

 

Peter was unconcerned with the physical condition of his old man, and Tony found that funny. Peter held on tightly to his hand and both stood from the bed and Peter immediately dragged him to the door and down the hallway. The kid was bounding, practically, and almost fell over his own feet a few times. It was a new experience, really, and Tony didn’t think he minded it very much, because Peter was smiling from ear to ear and he was starting to think maybe he hadn’t done bad.

 

Before they even made it down the stairs, Peter saw the presents under the tree and let out another one of his deafening shouts. He pointed over the railing and looked at Tony, shouting in excitement, “Look! Do you see!?”

 

“I see,” Tony replied, and Peter released his hand to run down the rest of the stairs. On a normal day Tony might would scold him for going too fast, but it was Christmas, there was no scolding on Christmas, even Howard knew that little detail. Peter slid to a stop in his socks right in front of the tree, and by the time Tony made it down, Peter looked entirely overwhelmed by the mass amount under the tree, and the kid appeared to have no idea where to even start.

 

Tony whistled quietly, “That’s a lot.”

 

“It’s the most ever,” Peter said in awe.

 

“Most ever,” Tony echoed, and he would one day miss Peter’s word choices, because sometimes they were so fascinating to him. Slowly Tony sat on the floor in front of the tree and patted the spot next to him. This, he could remember, with his mother. Her sitting under the tree with him and allowing Tony to pick which presents he would like to start with. Tony pointed at the tree and said, “Pick something and come sit.”

 

Peter hesitated, only slightly, and Tony worried maybe it was wrong because this Christmas was different from Peter’s other ones. But after Tony gave him a reassuring nod, Peter grabbed one of the gifts on top, and carried the silver wrapping paper over to plop down beside Tony. His tiny fingers ran over the paper and Tony said, “Go ahead, kid. Have at it.”

 

He didn’t have to be told twice. Peter ripped into the paper, shredding it and every single present went that way. Tony sat beside him as Peter ripped each open, letting out a joyous shout every time it was something new followed by a genuine, “I always wanted this!” But Tony supposed being only four-years-old and wanting something for five minutes felt like a lifetime. It took some time to get through everything, and by the time Peter had finished, there was a sea of paper surrounding them, all silvers, reds, and greens.

 

Tony didn’t think he had ever really watched a kid on Christmas morning. He remembered his own excitement as a kid, but seeing Peter the way he was, Tony just wanted it to stay that way. Peter was so happy, and Tony felt a sort of pride because he had actually done it. He had done Christmas morning and Peter didn’t seem disappointed or sad or hurt by anything he had done and that was success enough. Not messing up his child and giving him the best he could. And for those few minutes, Tony forgot he had been wanting a drink the night before. He forgot his hands shaking and he forgot the fear. He didn’t know how he could ever fear someone so tiny, but he always did. Peter was terrifying in a way Tony couldn’t voice, he was perfect though.

 

“I have something to show you.”

 

All of a sudden, a very confident voice came out of a very tiny child. Tony looked down at him in surprise. All the gifts were opened, tattered paper as far as the eye could see and Peter was smiling still, ear to ear. Tony’s brows furrowed in confusion, but Peter jumped to his feet, going towards the ceiling high Christmas tree that in retrospect, might have been a little over the top, but Tony had wanted that perfection and Peter had been so amazed by its size. Tony watched silently as Peter dug behind the tree and reached under the lower branches.

 

Out emerged a small purple box, one Tony hadn’t noticed and certainly one he hadn’t placed there. Peter ran back over, and Tony had to steady the kid a bit because he nearly fell again. Peter held out the box, and Tony took it in his hands and questioned, “What’s this?”

 

“Open it!” Peter ordered, crouching down in front of Tony, hugging his knees as he grinned and rocked back and forth on his heels like he was fighting the urge to shout what was in the box. Tony took the lid off slowly, not like it was going to explode, but like confusion was taking over and when he peered inside the box, he was surprised to see a small-sock-bunny. Tony lifted it from the box and it was barely bigger than his hand. Peter surged forward and grabbed Tony’s wrist, laughing.

 

“Look, it’s like my Remy,” Peter explained, his voice softer than before, a calmness settling in as he looked at Tony’s face, “Pepper helped me make him, and he’s going to make you not have bad dreams about the bad-men. Like how my Remy does for me!”

 

Tony stared at the little sock rabbit. It was sort of funny looking, its eyes uneven buttons, and its nose barely there. But it had ears. It had a mouth and it was from Peter. Tony looked down at his child, and Peter seemed to be waiting impatiently for some kind of response, squirming. Peter chewed his lower lip before he said, “I promise, Pepper made his eyes, so I didn’t touch any needles.”

 

Tony laughed, feeling slightly breathless. He pressed the rabbit to his chest and replied quietly, “He’s perfect…Thank you, it’s the best present I’ve ever gotten.”

 

Peter’s eyes went wide, and he sat up straight, “Really!?”

 

“Really,” Tony confirmed, “Well, besides you.”

 

The boy giggled at that and rocked back onto his bottom, rolling his eyes, “I’m not a present, Daddy.”

 

He then reached for some of his toys, most of the conversation clearly forgotten. Tony looked back down at the rabbit. He had dreaded this day so much, this morning, and yet it had come and Tony felt a strange contentment settling in his bones. Something he had never felt before, as he watched Peter push around a toy firetruck, making siren noises as it plowed through wrapping paper. He felt a weight lift off of him, because it felt perfect. It felt like it needed to be and Peter was smiling, and he was happy and that was what Tony had wanted this entire time.

 

It was what he had been so afraid of not delivering.

 

Peter played in the mess for some time until a few hours later, the lack of sleep caught up with him and he fell asleep in the pile. Tony had been moving around the house, trying his best to come up with something to eat for lunch later, but he guessed the kid didn’t care about the feast very much, Peter was a rather picky eater anyway and the true goal had been taken care of.

 

Tony found him there, lying on his back, head propped on a new stuffed animal. He waded through the paper, and scooped Peter up from under his arms and the boy’s head lulled on his shoulder. Tony held him tightly a moment, hand rubbing his back and he wondered when the day would come that Peter would be too big to pick up. He worried about that day. Peter was safe in his arms, and Tony guessed he’d have to let the kid grow up and do things on his own, but it was scary. He subconsciously tightened his grip as Peter’s arm wrapped around his neck and Peter regained consciousness just long enough to press a kiss to the side of his father’s head.

 

“Merry Christmas.”

 

Tony swallowed thickly. The world was safe.

 

“Merry Christmas, Pete.”


	2. Flu Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It never occurred to Tony that a part of being a father meant having a sick child occasionally. And four-year-olds weren't always the most cooperative when dealing with the flu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this little oneshot of the first time Peter gets sick and Tony gets a little freaked out! I love you guys!

_February 2006_

 

Peter’s little hands were like vises.

 

They were gripping the back of Tony’s night shirt, arms slung over the man’s back and his face buried deep in the space between Tony’s shoulder and neck. The boy was letting out sounds that could only be compared to self-soothing. As if Peter knew nothing better to do than to cry out what was ailing him, but Tony unfortunately knew better, he knew no amount of tears on his son’s part was going to dull the ache that was surely dousing his child’s muscles and burrowing in his bones.

 

That was what the flu did after all, at least it had all the times Tony had experienced it. He wasn’t sure how it felt in a tiny body, how every pull and push hurt. Maybe like he was becoming nonexistent, and Tony tried to be gentle while he held him, he really did, and he worried he shouldn’t be holding him at all, that he’d get too warm…But it was the only way to soothe the child, after hours and hours into the night of him crying and kicking.

 

Tony blinked blearily. He was running on very little sleep, hence why they were in the situation in the first place. Peter’s preschool had sent home a letter saying the flu was dropping children like flies. That if parents wanted, they could keep their children home and it would be excused absences until the school was cleared. But Tony had been dealing with company business for weeks now. Dealing with shit from Obie over it, over being a father, over being absent at board meetings. Just a bunch of bullshit.

 

So, Tony had sent Peter to school…Because he had a presentation to give, something to prove Obie’s investment in a new team of engineers was completely advisable, when Tony actually wasn’t so sure it was, but he wanted the man to get off his back about it. Then, as if like magic, Peter had come home, eyes bleary and then the chills had come. The small whines and the fever and Tony felt guilt beginning to bud.

 

Because of course…of course he’d send Peter to school and risk him getting sick. Because he was Howard Stark’s son and that was something Howard most certainly would have done. So, A+ parenting, once more, and Tony shut his eyes tightly in the dark room. He had turned the lights out, hoping it would help Peter fall asleep, but it was nearing two in the morning and the boy had only dozed off a few times. Most of his time was spent in that fever induced place between wakefulness and oblivion.

 

A chest rattling cough escaped Peter, like a fight for air, and Tony didn’t even care that Peter was hacking all over him. He just wanted him to fall asleep, but once the coughing fit ended, Peter’s discomfort grew. He moved, lifting his head just enough to look at Tony and the boy spoke, voice hoarse and sounding overused, though he had barley spoken a word in hours, “It hurts.”

 

“I know,” Tony shifted him, and suddenly he wanted to sue Tylenol for not taking his kid’s fucking pain.

 

Peter went on, “Even my toooooes.”

 

Tony nodded again, repeating, “I know…It all hurts, but if you go to sleep you won’t be able to feel it.”

 

Peter let out a huff. Like a pout, and it wasn’t like the nights Peter didn’t want to go to sleep. Quite the contrary. The kid was clearly exhausted and wished nothing more than to slip off, but his body wouldn’t allow it. Not with every cough jolting him awake with movement in his pained muscles. Slowly, Tony shifted and laid Peter down, the boy’s head sinking into the giant pillow, and Peter’s vise grip slipped a bit, leaving him grasping at air a look of betrayal appearing on his face at being put down.

 

“Hang on a second,” Tony pacified, placing a hand on Peter’s abdomen as he leaned over to grab the thermometer from the bedside table. It had been a few hours since he had last checked and when he texted Pepper, she had told him to keep an eye on it. Tony clicked the digital thermometer to life, before pressing it to Peter’s ear. The boy’s eyes were watery, not really from crying but he knew it was just the illness. He had his fingers in his mouth, which normally Tony would stop him from doing, but he would give him a free pass.

 

The thermometer beeped, and Tony pulled it away. He didn’t outwardly react to the number, but 102° made his heart flutter with a bit of panic. Peter had never been sick before…not with him…And whenever Tony got sick he usually just drowned himself into a coma using NyQuil. Peter continued to lay silently, blinking and Tony felt the blood in his body rise to his face with a newfound feeling of horror he wasn’t familiar with. It was different from the pool…from all the other shitty things.

 

“Hey, you know what?” Tony’s voice shook, and he gently pulled Peter’s wrist, removing the fingers from his son’s mouth, “Let’s go see Pepper.”

 

Peter shook his head, “I wanna sleep.”

 

“I know, but…it’ll only take a minute,” Tony insisted, standing from the bed and lifting Peter with him. It wasn’t long before he was strapping Peter into the backseat of his car, driving down the driveway. He could have been driving too fast, especially for having Peter in the car, but this was new, wasn’t it? A lot of it was new…Peter was still relatively new to him after all, and illness hadn’t even crossed his mind that day in the DSS office.

 

Tony gripped the steering wheel, knuckles changing color, and he continuously glanced in the rearview mirror at Peter’s face. The boy’s head was lulling, becoming illuminated every time a vehicle passed them. His eyes were open, but Tony wondered if he was really awake. In retrospect, he had no idea why he was speeding to Pepper’s. But he knew he needed to get somewhere. He was going to break Peter. The kid was too sick, and Tony didn’t know what to do.

 

Despite Pepper’s apartment being on the other side of the city, they made it in record timing because there was no traffic that normally plagued them. Tony parked in a handicap spot, which he supposed was an asshole move, but he didn’t plan on staying for very long and he wanted the space right in front of the door. There was this guilty moment of tugging his child from the car, when Peter’s head laid on his shoulder and his son was so tired…Was radiating so much heat and his shirt was slightly sticky with sweat.

 

Tony walked into the marble foyer, approaching the elevators, but he was stopped with a firm hand on his arm, surprising him and he pulled away quickly at the suddenly touch. Tony could only take so many heart pumping moments, a bullet had burrowed into his stomach a few months ago, life was really getting the better of him and his sleeping child was in his arms. Touching was a ‘no’. A big fat ‘no’.

 

The person in front of him was wearing a suit, perfectly tailored. An older guy, maybe late fifties and he cleared his throat, adjusting his jacket as he said, “Can I help you, sir?”

 

Ah…Maybe a doorman. The night worker, something. Tony shifted Peter in his arms and narrowed his eyes at the way the man was clearly scrutinizing him. Of course, Tony probably looked extremely disheveled, wearing only his sweat pants and a hoodie. But it wasn’t his fault and why didn’t he just add ‘getting judged’ to his list of worries that night. Tony replied, “I’m going up to see a friend.”

 

“Might I ask who that friend is?” The guy replied, “Possibly, I could ring up to the apartment? It is…quite late.”

 

Tony let out a disbelieving laugh, “Look, I know you’re probably silently judging me right now, but do you really think some midnight killer is going to come in wearing Versace sweats and carrying a four-year-old?”

 

The bland face of the man never changed, and he simply folded his hands in front of him, answering, “You would be surprised at what I’ve seen, sir. Now could I have your friend’s name?”

 

Tony looked at the guy’s name badge. Oliver. Fuck Oliver.

 

“Fine, Ollie,” Tony hissed, “Pepper Potts. She’s on the eighth floor and she’s my PA. You know what that means, dickhead? It means she works 24/7 cause that’s the kind of bullshit she signed up for. Unfortunately for her, and unfortunately for you I might go looking to buy this building. You’d better hope there’re some contracts in the way or else you’ll be job hunting starting in two weeks. Because that’s the perk of being Tony Stark, you get to ruin lives.”

 

In realistic terms, Tony knew it’d probably take longer than that, and once he cooled down he wouldn’t be interested in investing in some random apartment building. But it was enough to send a shocked silence of ‘Ollie’ and Tony turned, going towards the elevators once more and this time he wasn’t stopped. He was incredibly glad it seemed Peter had dozed off during that whole conversation because he wasn’t sure how many curse words he had said, and the kid had gotten into the habit of repeating any word he heard.

 

Tony made it down the hallway, to the white door that he knew led into Pepper’s apartment. He had only been there once before, and he remembered very little of it. A night in which Pepper had been forced to rescue him from public embarrassment while having had one too many glasses of champagne. That was before Peter, and Tony rapped his knuckles against the freshly painted blankness and he didn’t stop until the door was being yanked open.

 

Pepper appeared there. She was dressed in matching pajamas, a robe untied, and her hair pulled out of her face with a thick ponytail. To Tony’s surprise, she didn’t look shocked to see him on her doorstep at two in the morning but instead looked horrified and a bit angry. Her eyes glanced briefly at Peter’s back, the boy’s head still resting heavily on Tony’s shoulder. She let out a huff before questioning slowly, “Did you threaten Oliver?”

 

“Ah, so he called up here,” Tony pushed his way in, not waiting for the invitation. Her apartment smelled of fresh linen and everything seemed to be immaculately put into places. Picture frames and blankets and everything he imagined Pepper having. She shut the door behind them, and turned to face Tony.

 

“Yes, he called,” Pepper replied, “To tell me my disgruntled boss was on his way up and wanted to know if I needed him to call the police.”

 

“I assume you said no?”

 

Pepper glared, “Don’t think it didn’t cross my mind. What are you doing here and with Peter…? I thought he was sick?”

 

“He _is_ sick,” Tony moved to the couch in the living room, placing a hand on the back of Peter’s neck before he slowly lowered him down to lie his head on the throw pillow. Peter’s eyes fluttered open, but Tony didn’t think the kid was actually looking at him. It seemed more like he was staring through empty space. Tony continued to look at his round face as he said, “His fever got up to 102°.”

 

Pepper entered the living area as well and she breathed, “So you brought him _here_?”

 

Tony threw his hands up, “Well I didn’t know what to do, I panicked!”

 

Peter made a sound and Tony looked down. His lower lip was trembling slightly, and Tony ran a hand through his hair, that same feeling rising, and he was freaking out. He knew he was freaking out. Tony grabbed a blanket from the armrest, tossing it over the child’s frame before tucking it under his chilled body. Though warmth was radiating off of him, he could tell the kid only felt cold. Peter ordered, his voice still hoarse, “No yelling.”

 

“Alright, alright,” Tony agreed before looking at Pepper and asking, “Do you have a thermometer?”

 

Pepper turned and exited the living area. Tony sunk down onto the corner of the couch and Peter’s hands started reaching for him once more, and the boy was trying to sit up. Tony pushed gently on him, ordering with a firmness behind his tone, “Lie down.”

 

“I wanna – Daddy, I wanna,” Peter tried to roll over in his resisting, but Tony continued to keep him in a lying position. It didn’t take much effort, on a normal day the kid was relatively small and easy to handle. He was even more so, sick. But his short legs started to kick in frustration and Peter let out a startling shout, odd for the kid, “Let go!”

 

Tony’s brows tugged down, and he frowned, “Hey, okay being sick doesn’t mean you get to act like a teenager – “

 

Pepper reentered the room and handed the thermometer over. Tony looked at it and sighed, still trying to control the squirming boy, “This has to go in his mouth.”

 

“Tony, I don’t have kids,” Pepper said simply, as if it explained everything.

 

“Okay, well,” Tony turned back to his son. He hooked his hands under Peter’s arms, before pulling him up against his chest. He pressed Peter’s left ear into his sternum, burying his hand in the boy’s curls while he held the thermometer up to his mouth, “Open.”

 

When the boy’s mouth didn’t cooperate, Tony pressed the thermometer to the boy’s lips before he ordered again, “Peter, open your mouth.”

 

_Oh my God, I’m going to lose my shit._

Tony sucked in a deep breath, trying to bury the panic. It wasn’t necessarily anger, it was horror. Peter felt like an actual space heater, and if Tony didn’t get some kind of answer on his temperature right in that moment, he was going to stop being able to breathe. Tony shut his eyes tightly, and leaned forward, trying to gather his bearings as his hand shook. Peter was sick…It wasn’t his fault, he was only four and he didn’t feel well, and Tony was not well-equipped for this emotionally. The nightmares he could deal with, crying, all that, but shit…Peter was sick, Tony had sent him to school and oh yeah, he fucking hated himself.

 

Slowly, Tony returned to the task at hand, holding his breath as his eyes watered. He removed his hand from Peter’s hair and grabbed Peter’s face in the gentlest grip he could muster and squeezed just enough to make Peter open his mouth. Peter’s little fingers pushed at his hand as Tony stuck the thermometer in his mouth and under his tongue before he said, “God you’re so stubborn.”

 

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Pepper hummed, and Tony glared up at her.

 

He let out the breath he had been holding as he pressed the side of his face to the top of Peter’s head in an attempted apology. There was a beeping from the thermometer in just the few minutes that ticked by and Tony pulled it out, looking at the numbers on the screen. He felt a jolt go through his body at the number and he felt nauseated all over again.

 

Pepper read the numbers over his shoulder in a quiet voice.

 

 “103.1°…Tony, we need to take him to the ER.”

 

Tony didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the blanket and wrapped it tightly around Peter’s shoulders before lifting him and moving towards the door. Pepper slipped on some shoes, and a long coat to hide her pajamas and the two of them left the apartment, not giving Oliver a second glance as they rushed through the lobby. Tony was hesitant in letting Pepper drive, but ultimately it seemed like the better option. The last thing they needed was Tony killing all three of them in a panicked car drive to the ER that was only about five minutes away.

 

So instead he sat in the back, Peter held in his arms, swaddled like an infant in a blanket. The boy’s eyes were open, staring at him. But when Tony looked at him all he could think of was how he had sent him to school. Peter looked confused, confused about everything around him and where they were going and eventually Tony forced himself to calm, using his thumb to run across Peter’s brow to maybe ease the tension there. Peter’s nose scrunched, and Tony ordered, “Tell me what you’re thinking of.”

 

Right now, he just didn’t want Peter to go to sleep. He didn’t know how high fevers in children worked. Just another reason he was unprepared for all of this. Peter responded in his same froggy voice, “Ice cream.”

 

Tony let out a weak laugh, looking at Pepper’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Shit, sometimes the stuff Peter said was _funny_. Even when he had a fever that had skyrocketed and had just nearly made Tony lose his shit because he didn’t want to take the thermometer. The man nodded his head, and muttered softly, pressing the side of his face to Peter’s forehead, “God, I fucking love you, kid.”

 

“Curse word.”

 

He said nothing in response, only hummed in a sort of ‘I know’ tone.

 

…

 

No one said anything until they got to the hospital.

 

The whole ice cream comment had actually relaxed Tony to the point of not strangling the lady at the front desk who told them they had to fill out paperwork and wait. Apparently, there was a whole boat load of sick children with high fevers and that was clear in the waiting room of the ER. There were a lot of kids there, most of them sleeping in their parents’ laps. Pepper filled out most of the paperwork for Tony, which was kind of sad, but Tony didn’t even know his own social security number.

 

Peter kept his head on his father’s shoulder though and there was something a little more calming about the fact that they were at the hospital…That if Peter just fell out right there, help would be in reach. Even after all the paperwork was filled out, they still ended up waiting nearly three hours to be seen because a six-car pileup rode in on the red siren chariots. One by one though children were brought back. Some left, some never re-emerged and Tony could only assume those were the children that ended up being checked into the hospital.

 

That was precisely where they ended up when they were brought back though. It was clear the ER doctor was overworked and exhausted and Tony didn’t know why they hadn’t brought someone else in to help when it was clear a breakout was occurring. If Peter’s school had been sending home letters, there were probably other schools with the same issue. But the doctor was calm with them, calm with Tony’s panic, and frustration at having to wait so long. Her explanation was quick and simple: Peter was dehydrated. and his fever was too high. They would give him a bed and an IV and have him stay over night and he could more than likely be discharged in the morning.

 

All Tony could think about while Peter cried because they had stuck him with the IV was the fact that he had nearly let his kid fry under a fever and that was fucking scary. A part of him was deeply disturbed by it and Peter cried for what felt like forever, picking at the tape wrapped around his hand to keep the IV in place. Tony continuously shushed him, tried to make him understand but he had decided sick children were just better left to their own devices.

 

Peter, this little ball of anger, was still a wide-doe eyed child and it was kind of funny how he tried to be intimidating towards Tony, even after they had pumped him full of fever reducers. Pepper kept having to cover her face to fight giggles because when Peter realized he wasn’t very scary his lower lip trembled, and Tony felt a bit of guilt, but the kid really was the best thing in the world. Tony had almost forgotten that this was his fault, that Peter was sick, that he was entirely exhausted as he leaned forward on the mattress.

 

The boy mumbled, holding up his taped hand, “Get it off me, Daddy.”

 

“It’s going to help you get better,” Tony whispered.

 

“I’m better,” Peter said, “I…We can go home.”

 

Peter used his good hand to pat the side of his father’s face. Tony tilted his head into the touch, shaking it back and forth. Peter pouted with his lower lip out even further, and Tony pacified, “If you be good, we can get the ice cream you were thinking about.”

 

Then Peter smiled, and Tony thought maybe he wasn’t always so bad at this.

 

Pepper excused herself, going to search for coffee somewhere in the hospital and Tony slowly slipped into the bed beside his son. Peter’s fever had broken the moment they had started the fever reducers and suddenly all of that panic felt very silly while Peter blinked at him, so alert. Peter frowned, “This’s _my_ bed.”

 

Tony raised an eyebrow, “Well, I share _my_ bed. Maybe I should hog it from now on, huh?”

 

Peter shook his head, “No, I can share.”

 

He laughed in response, quiet and exhausted as he leaned his head on one of the pillows. Peter flopped over beside him, clearly annoyed with the IV impeding his movements. Peter grabbed Tony’s hand and lifted it, putting it on his own head. Tony smiled, running his fingers through the boy’s curls gently, before rolling his eyes, “I think I’ve ruined you. You’re spoiled.”

 

Peter nodded, “Mhm!”

 

Tony watched as Peter’s eyes eventually slipped shut in response to Tony’s comfort. He watched Peter’s breathing even out and suddenly the world wasn’t so terrifying anymore. It didn’t feel like Peter was going to shatter under his hand. The night had been chaotic, but it had ended okay which was odd for a Stark. Nights so often ended in bad things, and Tony had been undeniably afraid. But his heart calmed, and Peter was okay.

 

Maybe Tony was getting better at this.


	3. Binge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having a child doesn't cure Tony of his alcoholism. Sometimes he slips up.  
> Just as anyone else trying to recover would.

_June 2008_

 

Tony told himself it was Obie’s fault.

 

It’s what alcoholics did. They blamed and pointed fingers, and it was everyone’s fault but their own, and maybe not all of them were that way, but Tony most certainly was. It was his upbringing, then his parents’ death, and now it was Obadiah Stane and the betrayal he had left behind that had brought up old wounds that could not be licked away, not matter how hard Tony tried. No matter how many times he told himself this wasn’t what was best for Peter. It wasn’t what was best for himself and the whole “improve for his son” thing.

 

Maybe it was more of a failure then, because he had glued himself back together for a few years, and then he had blown that candle out, the earth had shaken, the person he trusted turned out to be the reason he had spent months in a hellish cave. A desert. Why three months of his child’s life was stripped from him. Why he had missed his son’s science fair, and fuck, there would be others, but Obadiah had done that. He had done it, and Tony deserved – _he didn’t it wasn’t true it was the excuses and he screamed and shredded himself apart on the inside_ – to have a drink.

 

The problem was, the drink had turned into two. Then three, then four, and Tony lost track somewhere in there. Where did it stop? It was too hot, the house was boiling, in the night, but June sucked, even in Malibu, it was too hot and without the breeze from the ocean, stuck behind glass walls, Tony was drowning and he laid on the couch in the living room. Staring at the ceiling, like he had done the night Obadiah had come in there and plucked the reactor out of his chest…Had told him everything and Tony wondered why his father figures always turned out to be such dipshits.

 

It was a Stark thing. Because as the room spun, Tony realized he was a dipshit. And Peter was stuck with him.

 

That was kind of the awful part. A few years ago, all Tony had to worry about was himself. But now there was Peter. The six-year-old _(seven in August, if Peter could hear his thoughts he would remind him, Peter was living for August)_ with wide brown eyes and a cheery smile and if he understood drinking, he would have been so disappointed in Tony. And Tony was disappointed in himself. Always, always.

 

“Well, you should be,” A familiar voice to his right said, “You should be disappointed in yourself. You’re a failure.”

 

Tony’s head whipped in the direction of the voice, pushing himself straight up into a sitting position. He ignored the way his stomach churned with either alcohol or what he was seeing, he wasn’t sure, but he was…sick. Several bottles laid out in front of him. And on the other side of the coffee table was the source of the voice, he had dreaded and for some reason a deep dark precipice opened up inside of him because this person’s face had been gone to him so long, and then the first thing he says to him when he sees Tony again is call him a disappointment. Because…

 

That was just who Howard Stark was.

 

Tony set his mouth in a line, glaring darkly at his father, and a part of him…the rational part knew deep down this was the result of being blackout…basically, not quite there but close enough. Howard didn’t just pop out of his grave after all, no matter how much Tony dreaded he would one day and see what a muck up he was, despite Peter being his only good accomplishment. Maybe he feared Howard would scold him for that too, like he was doing now…and would Howard…the real Howard, even love Peter?

 

Maria would have, but Howard…Tony didn’t know.

 

“Didn’t know I was this messed up already.”

 

The man scoffed, “You never do. You’ve always been this messed up, Anthony. Alcohol or not, just always chasing ghosts.”

 

Tony tilted his head, “Hey, could you maybe fuck off?”

 

Silence. Very brief, but as it passed it was welcomed. Because Tony knew what was happening, he had lived this many times before and it was always the same. It always felt like something digging deeply into his abdomen, threatening his very existence and there he was…there he was with his dead father, drunk out of his mind. And it wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all and he hated that he had done this, when Peter was sleeping upstairs. Tony supposed he just expected to wake up one day and be cured of all of his flaws, but it didn’t work that way. He wondered if it worked that way for anyone. Maybe it did, that was why some people were so adamant about faith, but Tony had none of it. He put his faith in the future.

 

“I knew you wouldn’t be good at this, you know?”

 

Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the alcohol induced ghost, “Good at what? That’s very broad, you hated most things I’ve done.”

 

“The boy. Being a father. You have no idea how to do it.”

 

Tony laughed. He looked up, surprise etched into his features and he hid the pain it caused behind a cruel smile. He tried to remind himself this wasn’t real…but it felt real, and that was sort of unnerving underneath. Tony reached out towards the coffee table, grabbing one of the bottles. He didn’t press it to his lips, Tony gave one last fight to not take another swig from it as he pointed at his father and chuckled darkly, “I learn from the best.”

 

Howard hummed, “So, we’re just going to have another Tony Stark in the world?”

 

“What’re you suggesting I do?” Tony slurred.

 

Truthfully, the conversations with himself – _it was himself, just him drunk, Tony knew it but he fought it_ – usually ended quite violently. Especially if he replied more than just a couple of times. Usually he could just ignore it. Let it settle deep in his bones and mull over it miserably, but that night he just couldn’t let it go. His father had befriended a money hungry fiend and Tony had paid the price. He had paid the price for his father’s distance, and Peter was paying for it now. There again, blaming everyone but himself and Tony had to fight the urge to throw the bottle.

 

“If I had been here, you wouldn’t have done anything,” Howard hissed, sending a shiver up his spine, “Because I would have gotten rid of the problem. You weren’t ready, never will be. It’s not like he’s really a Stark. He was a one night stand, punishment for your stupidity. And now, he’s punished for it as well. Your biggest failure: Peter.”

 

Tony didn’t know what happened. One second he was sitting on the couch and the next he was standing, letting out a loud scream as he threw his bottle towards the ghost. Of course it just shattered onto the floor, but he grabbed another and threw it, then another and another. Howard had no idea. He didn’t know…he didn’t know how that kid motivated him to get his ass out of bed, how he had stopped the drinking for the most part, but Obie, screw Obie, and Howard and everyone else, Tony had been doing _well_. All things considered, he hadn’t drank since coming home on the plane from Afghanistan. Not like this anyway.

 

He continued his tantrum. Continued throwing bottle after bottle, and they shattered until he ran out and he stood there, breathing heavily at the figure that hadn’t moved. It only continued to glare disapprovingly. Tony gripped his fists tightly at his sides and he shouted his voice raw, “Get out!”

 

Nothing and nothing and it was just always nothing from Howard.

 

“Get out!”

 

“Tony!”

 

And Tony startled. His back went rigid, and he didn’t understand the voice that suddenly ripped through, but it wasn’t Howard’s voice. Though he knew it so very well, and Tony only blinked once and the image of Howard faded, giving way to the foyer a few feet away. The front door was standing open, allowing the darkness from the outside to creep in and there were two figures standing there at the top of the platform that led down into the living area. Tony felt confusion warp into some kind of frustration, why was the door standing open? What were these people doing there in the middle of the night, and he wondered if he hadn’t shut the door, if he was hallucinating still, how much had he drank? He couldn’t remember now, but his fingers itched to strangle a dead man as the people looked at him: one with concern and one with anger.

 

Rhodey and Pepper.

 

Pepper’s hand was over her mouth, and she was dressed like she had been dragged from the depths of sleep. Rhodey was the same, and Tony stumbled back a bit, blinking hard, trying to focus on them and come up with an explanation as to their appearance, what he was doing, why there were broken bottles on the floor and the room was flooded with the smell of liquor. He swallowed thickly, biting his tongue as Howard’s words continued to ring in the back of his head, flying around in his skull like a bullet, ricocheting.

 

Rhodey took large strides towards him and Tony blinked, and then there he was, there was his best friend. His best friend who gave him a sharp shove and it wasn’t like Rhodey to get so angry. Tony’s legs hit the edge of the couch and he was left looking up at him, like he had looked up at Obie the night he had betrayed them. Had tried to kill them and his stomach lurched, but he managed not to vomit. He blinked blearily, as Rhodey loomed over him, eyes on fire and Tony’s hands were shaking…he wasn’t sure if he was angry too, or ashamed, but he could say nothing as Rhodey growled at him.

 

“What the hell are you doing?” Rhodey questioned, “What are you – Tony, your son is in the house.”

 

Tony swallowed, and gestured upstairs, “He’s sleeping.”

 

“No he isn’t!” Rhodey’s voice raised and it was so rare for him lose it…so rare for him to get this mad at Tony and Tony felt like shrinking, but then it was replaced by offense, as if being lectured on his own kid was the most angering thing anyone had ever done. Tony started to lean forward on the couch as Rhodey went on, “He called us thirty minutes ago saying you were screaming at ‘nothing’!”

 

Tony felt his stomach plummet through the floor, a vise gripping him in his chest. No…he hadn’t been screaming that long, had he? The conversation with Howard had only lasted a few minutes tops, but then again, things were always moving oddly whenever he drank. Rhodey turned to Pepper and ordered, “Go find him…kid is probably holed up somewhere scared to death.”

 

Pepper started to move up the stairs and Tony shot up instantly from the couch, looking at Rhodey with wild eyes. Pepper didn’t stop her ascent though and Tony snapped at the other man, “Don’t you – don’t you dare – “

 

“Look at yourself,” Rhodey grabbed the front of his shirt, before he gestured to the mess behind him, “This the kind of thing you want your six-year-old to wake up to in the middle of the night? His dad downstairs throwing shit and screaming like a maniac, after everything that kid has already been through!?”

 

And yeah…the world had changed. Iron Man existed now…things were different. Tony was different, the media viewed him differently. A superhero…no, he couldn’t be that because he was doing this. He was binge drinking and having an episode while his child was cowering somewhere on the second floor, too afraid to come down. But Tony still shook his head, because the safest place for Peter was with him. The safest place was their home, and Tony had derailed, he had screwed up…he was worse than Howard sometimes, wasn’t he?

 

“Don’t…” Tony breathed shaking his head, and it was hard to get his words right, the alcohol still coursing through him, “You can’t take him he – he needs me, you gotta – “

 

He was interrupted by footsteps and both turned to look at the staircase. Pepper was descending, a small backpack in hand and Peter was with her. He was gripping her free hand in a tight hold, his little knuckles were white. He had Remy tucked under his arm and his eyes were wide when looking at the mess, hair tousled from sleep. His pajamas had little science beakers on them, lower lip shaking. And Tony hated what he had done. He hated his flaws and how they projected outwardly and effected his child. He hated this…

 

Tony pulled away from Rhodey, shaking his head back and forth as he quickly moved towards both Pepper and his son. Rhodey said something, tried to grab him, but Tony was across the room in seconds, and maybe it was the lack of mental stability when drunkenness came in, but he couldn’t let them take Peter. It wasn’t safe, nowhere was safe, the person they trusted most had brought hell down upon them. Once Tony was in reach of the little boy standing on the second to last step, he bent down just enough to take Peter under the arms and lift him, pulling him from Pepper.

 

He whispered softly, “Hey…hey buddy.”

 

Peter was staring at him, but he was saying nothing, which was weird for Peter. Peter was always talking, he talked a lot, but as Peter was held close to his chest, propped under Tony’s arm for support, he could only see worry in those wide eyes. He wondered if Peter could hear the odd slur in his voice. He wondered if Peter could see it in his eyes, and he hoped not, but Peter was so perceptive, always. Tony turned and Rhodey was slowly walking towards them and Pepper had said nothing, still holding Peter’s backpack.

 

Tony rubbed Peter’s back as the boy placed his hands on his father’s shoulders, studying the man silently. Tony spoke quietly, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I woke you up I was just…I just got scared of something, I didn’t mean to make you scared too.”

 

When Peter said nothing, Tony felt more worry course through his body. He put a hand on the side of Peter’s face, cupping his baby cheek, and he said, “I’m sorry. I – you were right to call Uncle Rhodey, that’s what you’re supposed to do if things get scary…I’m not mad at you for that. You always call him if something gets bad.”

 

_Because clearly you can’t trust me._

Peter wasn’t crying, but his eyes were shining. His little hands gripped Tony’s shirt, and finally Peter spoke, trying to stiffen his lip but his voice deceived him as he replied shakily, “I wasn’t scared.”

 

Tony wasn’t sure what he was more horrified of. The lie or what he had done. Carefully he ran a hand through Peter’s hair, avoiding the tangles before he pulled the child’s head close and pressed his lips to his temple. Peter relaxed finally, not holding Tony’s shoulders to keep a semblance of distance, but he melted and tucked his head between Tony’s shoulder and head, wrapping his arms around Tony’s neck. There was some triumph in that as Tony moved away from both Pepper and Rhodey, and he held Peter tightly, arm circled over the kid’s back as he clung to his father like a monkey.

 

He tilted his head to press to the back of Peter’s where it lay on his shoulder. Tony knew he wasn’t protecting Peter from these people, they loved Peter too, and they were trying to keep Peter safe from Tony and all of his brokenness that Peter couldn’t understand at his age. The mess still laid about the living room. Tony looked at them with pleading, and whispered, “Please…please don’t.”

 

Peter was so quick to forgive, but they weren’t the same. One day Peter probably wouldn’t either. Once he was old enough to see the flaws his father carried. It wouldn’t be some middle-of-the-night dream that would be forgotten the next day when Peter woke up and wanted to watch cartoons or work on a Lego tower. One day Peter would remember. Maybe he would understand that Tony had struggled with Afghanistan, with Obie, with all of it and he didn’t know any other way to cope. He had really thought Peter was asleep. Really, he had.

 

He imagined them prying Peter from his arms, but it never came. They only glanced at each other, as if speaking and communicating silently. Understanding one another and their hesitance. Pepper was chewing her lower lip and she hadn’t spoke, she just looked so upset to be there in the first place…Tony was sure when the next day arose and she was a little more awake, he would hear about it. She’d tear him a new one, but tonight that was Rhodey, in all of his anger, because Tony understood…Rhodey loved Peter so much. And in that moment Tony was the villain of the story.

 

“Go to bed,” Rhodey ordered, “We’ll stay…But I swear to God Tony, get out of that bed for anything and I will not hesitate to take him out of this house.”

 

Tony felt like a teenager being scolded as he nodded his head in agreement, relief flooding him. He continued to hold Peter tightly, as he retreated up the stairs, a little kid frightened of his best friend. Pepper and Rhodey stayed on the ground floor and he didn’t stick around to hear what they had to say about him as he made his way down the swaying hallway and into his bedroom. He shut the door behind himself, moving towards the bed and the first thing he did was lay Peter down. The boy looked up at him and Tony paused, leaning over, staring at him and his eyes.

 

Peter questioned in a whisper, “Are they going to make me leave?”

 

“No…no,” Tony shushed, trying to chase the worry away as he slid Peter over to make room for himself. He pulled the comforter up, despite it being so warm, he just wanted that security around them. “No, I just…I messed up big time tonight, kid. I’m in trouble, not you.”

 

He tucked the blanket around Peter’s back as the boy rolled on his side to look at him and he said, “I’m sorry I called Uncle Rhodey…I got…”

 

He cut himself off, clearly remembering his lie that he hadn’t been scared earlier. Tony shook his head, “You did the right thing. Always call Uncle Rhodey or Pepper.”

 

Tony didn’t want Peter to be afraid to call them if something happened…if Tony was being an asshat. They could protect Peter, could keep him safe, even if it was from Tony himself. Tony was still struggling to put words together, a reminder that he was an idiot for drinking with Peter in the house. For letting himself get so far gone. For almost screwing up the only thing in his life that was good. Tony scooted downward, trying to get eyelevel with his son as he blinked in the darkness.

 

“You are the best thing I have,” Tony said, and he wanted Peter to understand, to understand he wasn’t angry that he had called someone when Tony had messed up…it had to be clear, “I did something bad. That’s what this was, I needed to be…’talked to’ about it. Just like I get onto you about stuff, sometimes Pepper and Uncle Rhodey need to do that to me. It keeps us safe.”

 

Peter nodded, “Like how I get in trouble going in the workshop alone?”

 

“Yes,” Tony murmured, “Exactly that.”

 

He pressed his lips to Peter’s brow. Quickly he pulled away before his eyes were burning and he tucked Peter’s head under his chin so that Peter wouldn’t see. Usually Peter initiated holding on, sleeping too close, even when Tony wanted to sprawl, when it was too hot, Peter usually clung in his sleep. But he supposed tonight he could do that. As if he thought Rhodey and Pepper were going to come in and change their minds. The bed was spinning, but Peter was there and it made Tony feel less like he was in the ocean.

 

“Dad?” Peter said, and Tony could feel him breathing.

 

Tony just hummed in response and Peter went on when he knew he had the man’s attention.

 

“My teacher says sometimes when we mess up we only gotta say sorry once, as long as we really mean it…so you don’t gotta say sorry tomorrow.”

 

Tony was convinced in that moment he had the most perceptive kid in the entire world. To know that Tony would wake up tomorrow, feeling doused in guilt…feeling the need to apologize over and over again…sometimes he wondered if Peter knew him best. Better than even Rhodey and Pepper, despite being six-years-old _(almost seven…remember that Stark, your kid is almost seven and he thinks he’s grown)_ and small for his age, Peter had an emotional capacity that Tony would never acquire. And he was so grateful for whatever genes Mary had put into the kid.

 

All he could do was let out a weak laugh…

 

“Teachers deserve to get paid way more than they do.”


	4. 'You Will Get Pregnant and Die'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The American school system doesn't offer the best sex-ed programs in the world. And Peter is one of those illegitimate statistics, isn't he?

_March 2015_

Peter decided sex-ed was stupid.

 

Like, really, really stupid.

 

Eighth grade, on its own sucked a lot anyway. Not just because of Flash Thompson, but because of the impending doom that high school had to offer him in just a few months. Well…not until August, but it was all very, very daunting in his opinion. Almost as daunting as having tasked himself with becoming an Avenger by the age of eighteen, but that was something they didn’t talk about, at his father’s request. Or order…Whatever came first. Besides, Peter just didn’t like being thirteen…He didn’t like being one of the scrawniest kids in his class, one of the shortest…It made stuff like sex-ed more awkward because of course the other boys wanted to pick on kids like him.

 

And Peter wasn’t the only one that got teased. Any boy that was a little behind on the growth curve was the target of teasing. Possibly, the funniest part about it all was that Flash Thompson wasn’t even the source of the anxiety like he so often was about anything academic. Probably because Flash was the same height at him and things outside of tests weren’t his forte. It was always the boys that had hit their growth spirts before everyone else. The ones who shoved other kids while walking down the hallway like some kind of corny 90s movie.

 

Which consisted of mostly Jake Dorman and his crew of especially vicious thirteen-year-olds.

 

Peter knew the moment he walked into the small room that veered off from the main gymnasium that it was going to be one of the worst classes of his life. He would have almost rathered himself and Ned be pelted with dodge balls than have to sit through an hour of Coach Murch trying to explain sex to them while Jake and his friends giggled directly behind Peter’s head. The room was too warm, and unfortunately because it was so small, he had to sit directly in front of Jake…Mostly just to spare Ned from having to do it, so he let his friend have the seat in front of himself. The boys behind him were already giggling, and Peter slouched down in the seat, waiting for Coach Murch to start the painful lecture.

 

It started out with packets. Packets with a picture of a girl and boy on the front, both of them slouched with their backs turned to one another. Peter ran his hand through his hair as he read the front that said: ‘SEX EDUCATION: GRADES 8-12’.

 

It wasn’t the subject in particular, it was just Jake and his friends laughing every two seconds that made him cringe as Coach Murch turned around and spoke, almost sounding bored, “Alright, alright, I know, it’s soooo funny.”

 

Peter rolled his eyes as Jake whispered, “Bet Coach Murch hasn’t be laid since the early 80s.”

 

The stupid part was, they probably didn’t even know what they were talking about. Peter sat with his shoulders stiffened, trying ignore them as Coach Murch started the lesson and Peter did his best to not feel uncomfortable. It wasn’t supposed to be uncomfortable…People were always complaining about the school system and their education on the subject and suddenly Peter understood why everyone was upset, because Coach Murch didn’t know what he was talking about, and honestly, Peter was confused on half the stuff he mentioned, but he listened nonetheless.

 

Truthfully, it wasn’t as painful as he thought it was going to be at first. Other than Jake and the other boys sitting behind him, it was a relatively tame lesson. It was only when they turned to page fifteen that things twisted up in the pit of his stomach…Well…he didn’t think about it at first. Not really, he was more focused on trying not to fall asleep. It was only when Coach Murch said, “Unplanned pregnancies can put a huge burden on people’s lives. It can set people back in their careers, in their education. That’s why we have classes like this, so hopefully none of you make that mistake.”

 

Peter jumped when a voice spoke from behind him, and he could tell it was Jake, leaning forward in his desk. His eyes widened a bit on the page when Jake questioned, “Hey Peter, weren’t _you_ one of those mistakes?”

 

There was a chorus of laughter from behind, and Ned turned slightly in his chair to look as well, his face contorting into anger. Peter shook his head when it looked like his friend was about to say something, Peter’s mouth drawn in a thin line as he tried to diffuse his friend as silently as he could. Coach Murch paused in what he was doing before he said, “Dorman, you know very well that isn’t what I was talking about.”

 

Peter swallowed past a lump in his throat. The frustrating thing was this: there were probably other kids in that room that had been born illegitimately. Peter couldn’t…statistically be the only one. But he was the one everyone knew about…Because Tony Stark’s press conference from 2005 was still on the internet, Peter running in was still a clip that people played on the television from time to time. The only reason anyone would say something to him was because Peter was one of the highest profile children born out of wedlock in the 21st century. Which was stupid…Because he was just like all the other kids. He was just like them, he wasn’t weird –

 

“Guess your dad didn’t take this class, huh?” Jake continued, ignoring Coach Murch, “Can you even like…inherit the company? I mean, your dad is dating his CEO, right? If they have a kid, technically speaking they’d be higher on the totem pole than you. At least that’s how real royalty works, and the news is always calling you a _little_ _prince_.”

 

Finally Ned piped up, “Shut up, Jake.”

 

“I think these are legitimate questions,” Peter still couldn’t turn to look at Jake, but he heard him lean back and he could only imagine the smug smirk on his face as he relaxed into his chair, “Seems to be the only legitimate thing about this guy – “

 

“That’s enough,” Coach Murch interrupted.

 

Jake sighed, “Fine, fine, fine…I was only gonna suggest his dad do some research…Maybe on a condom next time. Wouldn’t want another little burden – “

 

Peter didn’t let him finish. He flew out of his seat, throwing the Sex-Ed packet in Jake’s face before following behind it, sending his weight into Jake and the desk. The entire thing toppled over, and Peter reared his fist back, slamming it into the side of Jake’s head. He only got the one hit in though, before the other boy’s superior strength flipped him over and Jake managed to squeeze out of the desk, landing a punch into Peter’s cheek twice. The room had erupted into shouting as Peter hit the floor, and all he saw were shoes a moment as there was a scuffle overhead. Coach Murch was pulling Jake off of him and then Ned was grabbing his arm and….

 

Yeah…Yeah it was a bad class…

 

…

 

The school nurse gave him an ice pack for his cheek.

 

It felt like a lot. Everything, while sitting in the nurse’s office waiting for his father to show up. There was a certain anxiety about it, and Peter’s stomach was churning worse than it had been before the class had started. There had been a bad feeling, and it had come to pass. He wasn’t being crazy…he had been right, something bad did happen. Peter’s face was bruised, his father was going to yell at him, and he was supposed to go to Ned’s house that Friday, but he doubted he would be allowed to anymore.

 

The nurse sat in the corner of the room, typing on her computer. Peter just didn’t know what to do or say, he had never really been in a real fight before. If it even counted as that. Jake had knocked the shit out of him, Peter had only really hit him once. Though he had started it, and he knew the punishment would be on him for throwing the first punch. There was still a sense of adrenaline fogging his mind over, making him feel sick inside. But he pushed it down and instead replaced it with a tapping foot and bloodshot eyes filled to the brim with anxiety. Of course his dad wasn’t mean, he wasn’t going to hurt him, but he didn’t want him to be mad at him. Peter didn’t like those rifts in the house.

 

He jumped heavily when the door to the nurse’s office opened and the nurse seemed just as surprised by the sudden intrusion. When Peter blinked, his father was standing there in the doorway, dressed in a suit, looking rather peeved about something. Peter could guess what that something was, but he had hoped for a different reaction that was not offered to him. Instead, his father held out his arm and gestured, voice sounding the way it did when Peter heard him answer business calls on the weekends for things Pepper had to hand over to him…

 

“Up, come on.”

 

It wasn’t often his father treated him so coldly, but Peter lowered the ice pack from his face and jumped to his feet, crossing the room without hesitance. Once he was in arms reached, the hand slid around his back and pulled him to his father’s side. The nurse stood quickly, and she spoke with worry, “Mister Stark, I believe the principal wanted to see you – “

 

“I already talked to him,” His father took the ice pack from his hand and tossed it to the woman. She caught it with flimsy hands and he continued, “Thanks.”

 

She said nothing to that, only nodded rapidly. Peter was pulled from the room, struggling to keep up as his dad kept him tucked protectively to his side. Peter didn’t miss the way several office workers glanced up from their desks as they passed. It was no secret the son of Tony Stark attended school at their junior high, but it wasn’t everyday he showed up there. Especially not to get his child that had gotten into a fist fight. Peter swallowed, casting his gaze downward as they pushed through into the lobby. His father was warm, and Peter took some comfort in him, but he would have taken more if he knew his dad wasn’t so angry with him.

 

“Dad?” Peter whispered as they approached the front doors, “Dad – what did the principal say?”

 

His father sighed, pushing the door open. Peter was pulled through and he could see the parking lot in the distance where he knew they were about to have the most uncomfortable drive home in history. The sunlight was almost blinding as they stepped down the curb and his father answered, “You’re suspended for three days.”

 

Three days…Well, it didn’t sound awful. But his father sounded less than pleased as he went on, muttering more to himself than to Peter, “Asshole…couldn’t see the big picture that the other brat and his friends were…goddammit – “

 

His father was struggling to find his keys in his pockets and dropped them on the ground, finally releasing Peter as they stopped in front of the passenger door of his father’s Audi. Peter stepped away to give the man space as curses continued to leave his lips, and it was clear he was fuming over the whole thing because it was rare that he would let more than one curse at a time leave his lips in front of Peter. Pepper had nearly gotten him trained, even if it had taken like…nine years to get to that point. Peter worried on his lower lip as his father grabbed the keys and the door opened under his father’s forceful hand.

 

Peter murmured, “It was my fault though, I hit Jake.”

 

“Don’t you…” His father whirled on him, looking down and pointing a finger. Peter flinched, causing his father to draw back immediately, guilt flashing over his eyes. The hand that had been pointed in his face returned, but this time, it slid over the top of his head in a sort of apology. He then gave Peter’s shoulder a gentle push before ordering, “Just get in the car.”

 

He practically fell into the passenger seat, putting his backpack on the floorboard as his father shut the door behind him. Peter stared at the dashboard waiting for his dad to come around to the other of the car and get in. They pulled out of the school parking lot and Peter felt a weight on his shoulders replace itself. Because he was no longer there, under prying eyes, but now he was with his dad in the car, enduring the awkward ride that he knew was going to happen, so he didn’t know why he was really surprised to be suffering there.

 

Sometimes his dad really struggled for the two of them to just talk. To speak to one another about the hard stuff. Peter often held his breath, waiting, to see how long it would take, and it always took too long. His father’s first response was often to lash out at whatever was hurting Peter, not to ask Peter how they had gotten to that point. His father’s instincts didn’t ask questions, they just…went haywire. And often times people in Peter’s path ended up hurt because of it. Jake and his friends had been cruel, but Peter had hit him first. He had lost his temper. He had to answer to that, it was the rules, but his father didn’t want to hear it.

 

When they arrived home to the tower, Peter was relieved they didn’t run into anyone on their way up to residential, especially none of the other Avengers. He didn’t want them to see how mad his dad was, he didn’t want anyone else to get into his path. His father would never hurt him, but he couldn’t say the same for everyone else. The elevator ride up continued on in a quiet despair. Peter stared at his reflection in the glass doors, wanting to say something, but his father was fiddling with his cufflinks, the bird ones, and Peter felt kind of sick to see him wearing them. The memories were far away, Peter supposed, but they were there with answers that never came from the dream-memories. Especially not after Phil Coulson was murdered.

 

Their apartment was empty, which meant Pepper was elsewhere and a part of Peter wanted to make a retreat and another part didn’t want to run from his dad. However, his dad made that choice for him when he grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him towards the kitchen, having him sit in one of the stools in front of the kitchen island. It was tall, and his dad didn’t sit next to him, but instead stood so close he was nearly touching Peter’s knees. On the stool, he felt almost tall enough, but he was still a head shorter than his dad like that.

 

His arms crossed over his chest and Peter shifted uncomfortably at the action. Maybe it was a barrier, made between an adult and a thirteen-year-old and Peter didn’t really know why his father built it so often and made his chest ache because he wanted to be close. He wanted to make his dad understand this, and all of the drowning things in his life were tied to being a Stark and Jake had said some things that had made sense. Peter understood what he was in his father’s life, even if he knew his father would never willingly admit it. It was a heavy-set pinch in life…in an existence that should not have been.

 

“Pete…” His father started, and there was gentleness there, but also frustration, “Your principal gave me his side…which I have a feeling it was that asshole kid’s side. So, give me yours. And don’t…don’t give me the crap about you starting it, about you hitting someone first, I wanna know what happened before that.”

 

He was so close, and Peter felt so small, his shoulders folding inward for a moment as he sucked in a deep breath, blinking at his dad’s chin because he could not meet his gaze. It felt so hard to be there, in that room. Peter grabbed his backpack, turning slightly in the stool and he unzipped it and pulled out the little booklet Coach Murch had given them. He didn’t hand it over immediately, hesitating as he bit down on his lower lip and fought the urge to lie. He just…he didn’t know how to do this, but he knew his dad wasn’t going to let him run away, even if he did cry. Crying didn’t always work.

 

Silently, he handed the booklet over, and his father scanned it, clearly taking in the words: SEX EDUCATION: GRADES 8-12.

 

His father held it up, “What does this mean?”

 

“Means…well guys are stupid,” Peter murmured, rolling his eyes weakly, as he continued to curl forward, pulling his arms close to his abdomen. He couldn’t look at his dad as he kept his gaze on the wall and went on sheepishly, “We talked about unprotected sex…and how unplanned pregnancy can ruin your life.”

 

There was a beat of silence as his dad slowly set the booklet down on the island, stepping impossibly closer to him. He questioned sharply, and it was clear he wasn’t angry at Peter, but he was angry at someone, making Peter’s face burn, “And what does that have to do with you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

 

“Well I…” Peter looked at his dad, as if the answer was obvious, finally meeting his brown irises. His father’s were on fire as Peter gestured hopelessly, shrugging in slight confusion, because didn’t his dad get it?

 

“That’s kinda what I am…a mistake.”

 

He watched the flames turn up, like a hurricane lamp, and his father’s hand shot out, not slamming onto the counter top, but using enough force to catch Peter’s attention. His free hand raised his index finger, forcing Peter to look at him, despite how badly Peter wanted to retreat from the conversation they were having. His father sounded like he was seething, and Peter tried to remind himself it wasn’t directed at him, but Peter was the one receiving it, which he could only imagine what happened with the principal.

 

“Listen to me, _closely_ ,” His dad ordered, “I never want to hear that again. Ever. You got me? Don’t…entertain that. It’s bullshit.”

 

Peter laughed, but it sounded more like a scoff without dedication behind it, “Dad, c’mon, I’ve been listening to all those grownups at parties and stuff say it for years. You don’t have to hide it from me, I know I basically turned your life upside down. That’s why it took Mom and…Other Dad dying for me to come live with you – I wasn’t supposed to be here – “

 

“You didn’t live with me because I didn’t know you existed, you know that, you – you know that,” His father sounded desperate all of a sudden, like Peter not knowing that was the most painful thing in the world, the anger melting away to be replaced by a relentless insistence, “You _know_ that.”

 

Peter swallowed.

 

“Would you have wanted me with you?”

 

White noise. Peter didn’t know why he asked it, it felt wrong after it left his mouth in the way it was suddenly watering and his eyes were burning. Maybe it was something that had always been in the back of his mind, but it took Jake’s bullying to awaken it. His father shook his head, and replied hushed, “I will always want you.”

 

“But _with_ you, Dad.”

 

“Why are you asking me this?” The man hissed, sounding unbelievably flustered, “Why would you ever ask me that? I will always want you, and you will always be with me, you got that? Because you’re my son, you’re mine and that’s the end of it. Not a mistake, or whatever that kid tried to tell you – “

 

“But wanting me in the world and wanting me with you are different,” Peter interrupted, and he suddenly felt like he was drowning in the way his voice sounded wet and teary, “I know I’m thirteen, but I’m not dumb, I know…I know you and Mom didn’t love each other. So, if she were alive and you knew I existed, would you have wanted me with you? Or would you have just paid child support and been like other dads who avoid their accidents?”

 

His father looked like he had just been slapped across the face. They had never really talked about any of that before. About his mother and loving each other, it was just stuff Peter had deciphered over the years. You didn’t have to be in love to have a baby. And his dad hadn’t been in his life until his mother was dead. His shoulders were tense as he scratched the hair on his face, regarding Peter like something he wanted to shake. Peter hoped he wouldn’t. He was looming over Peter, like a thunderstorm, ready to erupt.

 

“From the second I saw you, I loved you more than…than anything,” His dad started slowly, carefully, “I didn’t have to know you. I would have done anything to keep you safe. I’m not a safe guy. I’m just not, baby. You saw that – after Killian and New York, my _problems_ – so…if Mary had been alive when I found out about you, I would have…I would have protected you and that would have meant staying away.”

 

Peter was pretty sure his father hadn’t called him ‘baby’ since he was six or seven. Even though he was thirteen, it didn’t feel patronizing, but if his father had said it in any other tone it would have been. Peter didn’t even like being called a kid, but he allowed it. His dad leaned closer, and finished, “But you were never a mistake. Never will be. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. You made me want to be better. More importantly, you gave me a reason to be a decent human being. So _stop_. Cause if I hear that again, I might have to hunt that dumbass kid down myself.”

 

The boy nodded mutely, an odd feeling spreading through his chest. No one said anything for a moment, before his dad ruffled his hair gently, stood back up straight, putting some of his weight on the counter beside him. Peter questioned, “So am I…grounded?”

 

“Pepper will want you to be,” His dad said, “Because violence is never the answer, and all that. I think just a few days will do. After all, the other kid was the one messing with you, and I don’t blame you for hitting him. But try to refrain from it. Might make it hard to get you into that school in Queens and I dunno how many more meetings with that principal I can handle.”

 

Peter agreed, quickly, his body finally relaxing. The entire conversation had been exhausting in a way he could not pinpoint. He felt tired, suddenly, as if he had just been put through one of the most stressful days of his life. But also…there was another feeling in the back of his mind, itching around. One of relief, and not from the lax punishment, but from his father’s words. His father loved him…he loved him, and despite him telling him that if Mary had been alive, he probably would have stayed away…Peter felt relieved at the honesty. Peter supposed it didn’t matter now…his mother was gone, the events had led up to him being with his father and sometimes he wished so much for her to be around. He missed her, even if he barely remembered her. But he would never wish his father away. Never.

 

A hand squeezed the nape of his neck and his dad said, “C’mon, come to the lab with me. I could use a partner, Bruce is a crappy assistant. Don’t tell him I said that, though.”

 

Peter snorted, but nodded his head nonetheless, jumping down from the stool and bounding out of the room, falling in step beside his father as they headed down the hallway…

 

He wondered if his father knew he too wasn’t a mistake.


	5. The Mall Santa Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony went back towards the line, stepping over the fence behind the mother and child Peter had been speaking to.
> 
> Instead though…when he got back in line he found Peter wasn’t there.

_December 2006_

 

“I don’t get it.”

 

Tony watched Pepper pinch the bridge of her nose. Her eyes shut so tightly, Tony could see the wrinkles around them and her mouth frowned downward. It wasn’t the first time he had said that, ever since they had made these plans a week ago. Spending his Saturday in a mall full of screaming children, waiting in line to take a picture with a guy in a poorly crafted Santa costume who was very likely to be a creep underneath, was no how he pictured his weekend. Pepper finally opened her eyes again, turning to look at Tony from where she was laying out a red sweater vest. Peter was inside the bathroom. His newest _thing_ was doing stuff on his own. Which meant changing in front of girls was no longer allowed and ‘Pepper was a girl’.

 

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Pepper whispered, so the boy wouldn’t hear behind the door a few feet away, “Kids meet Santa. They take a picture, and parents put it in a scrap book.”

 

Tony shook his head, “He’ll know it’s not real.”

 

“Peter thought the mailman was the tooth fairy for the longest time because he swore he saw him stealing teeth, turned out the guy just had dentures,” Pepper rolled her eyes, “He’s five. You should be happy he believes in these things, parents would kill for their kids to be this young again, and you don’t even seem to care.”

 

Offense welled up in Tony’s chest. Offense that screamed Howard, how he would have never even entertained the thought of bringing Tony to meet a mall Santa. Tony swore on everything he was nothing like Howard. He refused to be. His face burned slightly, hands gripping into fists as he ground his teeth together to find some semblance of sanity because getting angry over a fucking mall Santa was not in the cards for their little outing.

 

“I care,” Tony insisted vehemently, “I care that he’s small. I pay attention, okay? But this…it feels wrong. He’s going to be hurt when he realizes it’s all bull – “

 

Tony cut off when the bathroom door opened. Peter emerged, his white shirt untucked and little black pants dragging the floor. Tony finished offhandedly, “ – logna…”

 

Peter had a huge grin on his face as he bounded forward. His hair was askew, a mass set of curls on his head. Part of the only reason Tony was still going forward with the plan was because Peter seemed so excited to meet the mall Santa. Peter stopped in front of him, grabbing Tony’s beltloop as he tugged, “Let’s go!”

 

“Wait, wait,” Pepper chided, grabbing the vest. Peter made a face towards the snowmen embroider on the front and Tony didn’t blame him. It looked like the stuff Maria used to stick Tony in when he was small. The weight on his beltloop grew heavier as Peter tugged, stepping around his father as if to hide from the woman.

 

Peter shook his head, “Nooooooo.”

 

Pepper frowned, “No? But it’s a Christmas sweater, you’ve gotta have a Christmas sweater to meet Santa.”

 

Honestly, it was bullshit. Or bologna. Whatever. Tony shook his head, leaning downward, beginning to tuck Peter’s white button down in for him. Peter squirmed at the handling before he was lifted suddenly into his father’s arm. Tony ordered, “C’mon Pete, arms up. Pepper picked it out special for you.”

 

Peter made a disgruntled sound, but his little arms raised, and Pepper smiled, pulling the vest over his head.

 

…

 

The mall was packed, much to Tony’s dismay.

 

He wasn’t surprised, but he was definitely annoyed. Not to mention, Pepper disappeared the moment they walked in and Happy was literally stuck to Tony’s side. Which he supposed it was his job, but with everyone else around with their screaming children it just felt vaguely like some kind of horror movie. Peter kept tugging on his hand, trying to pull him this way and that way, even after they had gotten in line to meet Santa. The twenty-mile long line.

 

They had decorations where the line ran through the main area of the mall. Fake snow covered the ground and there were small animal figurines. Peter kept trying to reach into the fence, wanting to touch, despite there being signs that specifically told them not to. Tony didn’t get that either. If they knew a line full of children was coming, why put out decorations that couldn’t be messed with? Tony had spent a little over a year with his son and he knew better.

 

Happy continued to stand too close, and it was only when one of the kids in line tried to talk to Peter and Happy tried to step in-between, per his usual overprotective self, did Tony relieve him officially. It was one thing to protect Peter from some stranger, it was another thing to protect him from another five-year-old. Sometimes Tony felt Peter was already a pariah, at the tender age he was at. Just because of the stares Tony received when he went out. Being a billionaire with a mile-long list of scandals made it difficult to blend in. Peter was still a relatively new thing in his world and the tabloids. The most recent thing had been a picture of Peter crying after an issue with another kid at the park. The title had read ‘Another Spoiled Stark in the Making?’ and Tony had almost lost his shit.

 

Eventually he had gotten over it, but not without weeks of seething.

 

“Daddy?”

 

Tony looked down. Maybe he had zoned out, Peter had probably been trying to get his attention for a while. Peter was tugging on Tony’s beltloops again, and Tony grabbed his hands to alleviate some of the weight. Peter had a bad habit of doing that, and Tony couldn’t remember how many loops had been torn because of it. Tony hummed, and Peter gestured for Tony to lean down. He did so, and Peter cupped his hands, whispering in his ear, “If I tell you what I ask for will I still get it?”

 

“Sure,” Tony answered, continuing smoothly, “That only counts for wishes.”

 

It was funny, how he had learned to speak to Peter so easily. It used to feel hard to simplify things down to his level of belief and understanding. Peter said, “Well, Imma ask for us to live in New York forever and ever.”

 

Tony’s brows furrowed. He didn’t feel…well, not particularly offended, but his chest pinched slightly. Tony squatted, after they stepped a bit further in line, closer to the front. He questioned, “Why? Don’t you like it here, in Malibu?”

 

Peter’s lower lip poked outward, “Well…yeah. But it doesn’t snow here. And Santa has a sled, so it must be hard to come to the beach.”

 

“Nah,” Tony reassured, still wavering from the bit of pain in his chest, “Santa flies. His sled doesn’t even have to touch the ground.”

 

The boy’s face contorted as if he hadn’t quite realized that. He then smiled brightly, nodding his head rapidly up and down in agreement. Peter poked Tony’s face, “How do’ya know all this stuff?”

 

“You’ll find out when you’re grown.”

 

Tony jumped when his phone suddenly started to vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out quickly, standing to full height and Peter barely gave him a second glance. Tony usually got several phone calls throughout the day, and the boy turned around to talk to the child in front of them, something about one of the fake squirrels looking real enough to ‘come to life’. Tony answered, “Hello?”

 

_“We’ve got an issue.”_

It was Obie’s voice. Tony sighed, shoulders slumping in annoyance. Usually he gave such calls to Pepper, he didn’t like dealing with the nitty-gritty shit the company had to offer. He just wanted to build, that was it, design, add more and more. But there were always politics and that typically seemed to be where Obie came in the picture. Tony tilted his head, “And that issue is…?”

 

_“Well…”_ Obie had the voice he usually tried to keep when he thought Tony was going to flip his shit about something _, “The Board is calling a meeting today…In New York. Something about rightful shares and all that…You’ve had the kid around over a year and they’re getting tired of waiting for you to make a decision on inheritance – “_

“Woah, woah, woah, they’re calling a meeting to talk about _my_ kid?” Tony snapped, voice raising, and he looked back. Peter had glanced over his shoulder where he was speaking to the other little boy. His eyes were round, and concerned, and Tony cleared his throat awkwardly, stepping over the fence, as he gave a hand gesture for Peter to stay in line. He moved away, putting some distance as he continued, “What the fuck does that mean? They choose a day that I’m across the country to what…conspire?”

 

_“Seemed convenient to me as well. Don’t worry, there’s really nothing they can do, but they can try to vote to have the kid’s shares withheld until a certain age.”_

“That’s not their decision.”

 

A sigh _, “Tony, The Board has rights too, and when it comes to someone potentially having a hold on more than half of the company, that’s when things get fragile.”_

“Okay well let them know if they go through with this meeting, it won’t be the only thing that’s fragile,” Tony didn’t even know what that meant, but it sounded good, behind the anger. Behind his shaking fist held tightly at his side where he was ducked behind a giant candy cane. Tony went on, “If they want to convene and talk about it, they can give me a week’s notice and I’ll be there, otherwise I’m going to consider everything they do void.”

 

_“Tony – “_

“Handle it, Obie. I’ve gotta meet Santa.”

 

Tony hung up the cellphone, letting out a quiet curse. He ran a hand through his hair, shutting his eyes to gather his bearings before he had to go get back in line with the screaming children. Peter had looked worried anyway, and Tony was bound to have to come up with an excuse as to why he sounded angry on the phone. Peter picked up on those things, he questioned things. He worried about Tony a lot, when Tony didn’t deserve it. Tony went back towards the line, stepping over the fence behind the mother and child Peter had been speaking to.

 

Instead though…when he got back in line he found Peter wasn’t there.

 

At first it didn’t register as panic. There were a lot of other kids there, Peter could have been talking to any of them. Tony tapped the mother on the shoulder and she turned, raising an eyebrow. She smiled politely, and Tony questioned, “Did you see where my son went?”

 

He watched her mind work behind her eyes and she replied, “Oh, the little boy talking to Jacob?”

 

Tony nodded. He supposed Jacob was her son. However, she shook her head, though her face didn’t lose its politeness. She then looked down at her son, tugging his hand to get his attention. When he looked up at both her and Tony she asked, “Honey, did you see where that boy went?”

 

‘Jacob’ shook his head mutely and shrugged with nonchalance, “He said he was gonna find his dad.”

 

Great. Great, fucking great. Tony felt a familiar warmth burning his face and the back of his neck in the form of panic. His heart stuttered, and he told himself that it wasn’t a big deal. They were in the mall, no one was going to snatch his kid there. There was no Hydra, no one that wanted answers that Tony could not provide. The woman looked concerned though, maybe she had felt a familiar panic before, because she reached out a hand and Tony held down the flinch he felt threatening when she put it on his arm. She spoke softly, almost like Pepper, “Listen, I’m sure he didn’t go far. Jacob wandered off a few months ago and mall security brought him to the front office. If they haven’t found him yet, I’m sure they will.”

 

That was different. Jacob had probably never been kidnapped by terrorists for information that his geneticist step-father had collected.

 

Tony stepped over the fence, beginning to look around the large room with the glass ceiling. He scanned the crowd closely, eyes narrowed, taking in every little face he could. But his mind didn’t compute much, he had already lost control of his rational thinking with the possibilities running through his head as to where Peter could be. His mouth felt dry, and he was smothering. It seemed every damn kid in the mall had on a red Christmas sweater and he suddenly hated himself for making Peter put it on in the first place.

 

After about five minutes of no recognition, Tony pulled out his cellphone and dialed both Pepper and Happy.

 

Full blown panic.

 

…

 

Tony supposed a lot of parents went through this sort of process, because the mall had a whole procedure set up, which they called ‘Code Cradle’. Which in retrospect, sounded kind of menacing and scary and didn’t comfort Tony in the slightest, but a missing kid in a vast Malibu mall wasn’t a game. Even if the police seemed almost sure that Peter had simply wandered off, it was clear they were taking into account the fact that the boy’s father was Tony Stark and that Peter had been kidnapped and threatened before.

 

Whether it be in actuality or through letters.

 

A lot of it didn’t help, and neither did Tony’s freak out. Turns out Pepper had gone to one of the coffee shops in the food court to get some work done and Happy had gone wandering around, but Pepper was unhappy and Happy was scoping the place out, trying to order the police around. Pepper kept scolding him, it was a mess, really. They were all a mess, and eventually Tony was made to sit down on a bench because apparently he was disrupting the search or something, but he didn’t know how he was expected to be calm in a situation like that. Where everything felt so hard.

 

Peter was gone.

 

He sat, hand over his mouth as he rested his elbow on the corner of the bench. He couldn’t form words, even though Pepper was seated directly beside him. Happy was in the distance, bothering the officers. The building was being turned inside out, and Tony knew he’d probably need to give some contributions for the police response he had basically conned out of all of them. It was his fault, God…he was so stupid. Over a year and he was still messing up. He had walked off, had left Peter alone and Tony let out a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“Tony…” Pepper started, but Tony interrupted.

 

“I looked away for a second,” Tony whispered, eyes shut, “A _second_ , Pepper. Just to talk to Obie and…I don’t get it, I don’t get how he could just be gone.”

 

Pepper was silent a long moment before she reassured, “It happens to all parents.”

 

“It can’t happen to him though,” Tony’s eyes opened, his voice almost seething with the anger he felt towards himself. Because, how could he be so stupid? “Peter is my son…Not just anyone’s son, but mine and you know the kind of shit people say and do – they want that ten percent gone, and Peter is a way to make that happen – “

 

Pepper reached out and grabbed his arm tightly, “He wandered off, no one grabbed him.”

 

“You don’t know that,” Tony hissed, “You don’t _know_ that. You can’t.”

He was never meant to be a father, it was too dangerous. He was dangerous, the money, the publicity, it was never the right environment for a child. Maybe if Mary and Richard had survived, Peter would have been safer with them. But they hadn’t, and Peter had gotten the short end of the stick. Every time it felt like he was getting better at fatherhood, something happened and Tony’s eyes were opened to the familiar self-hatred that had gotten him to the bottom of a bottle in the first place.

 

He had only turned his back for a second.

 

But maybe Pepper did know what she was talking about. Because it wasn’t but ten seconds later that one of the officers in the blue uniform approached them with Happy by his side. He held up his walkie-talkie and began to speak, making Tony stand to his feet in anticipation, because Tony could just read behind his eyes that he knew something…

 

“The manager from Dillard’s called,” He started to explain, “There’s a child hiding in one of the clothes racks. She doesn’t want to startle him, so we’re about to head over there now and see if it’s your son – “

 

Tony was already moving.

 

“Sir – “

 

Tony ignored him. He supposed he understood somewhere in the back of his mind why the officer would want him to wait. But he couldn’t, not when he knew where Peter was, or at least the child they thought was Peter. Not when they were worried he was scared and would try to run from them. Peter wouldn’t run from him, and there was a deep hard part of him that was terribly upset with his son for wandering off. He was vaguely hurt by his own seething anger, and he knew he should have stepped aside and taken some calming breaths before storming into the Dillard’s store where the manager and a few officers were already there, but he hadn’t. Pepper’s shoes were clicking behind him, she had told him to slow down a few times, but Tony’s strides were still wide, still going with purpose.

 

Four hours.

 

Maybe somewhere down the line, it would be funny. In the future, when they thought back to Peter hiding in a clothes rack for four hours while the mall was turned upside down. But Tony felt nauseous, like he could have vomited as he approached where the adults were surrounding some women’s dresses. Ugly floral ones that were bright, and the store smelled too much like perfume. As Tony got closer, he noticed the small shoes near the bottom. Sure enough, when he pulled the dresses back, there was a figure crouched there, his knees pulled to his chest, eyes wide and watery when he looked up at Tony.

 

Tony didn’t think. He let the frustration bloom a bit too wide.

 

It wasn’t an explosion per se, he had never been forceful towards Peter. Scalding hot water or anything like Howard. He refused to be. But anger did surface, at the tip of his mind and he scooped Peter under his armpits with tight hands. Peter’s eyes went even wider if possible, as he was lifted forcefully. The first thing that left Tony’s mouth was not the kindest, but God his stomach had twisted into knots for hours, and Peter was only five, he was just a child. Tony could hardly breathe –

 

“Why didn’t you _stay_?” Tony gritted out through clenched teeth, the way his mother would speak to him if he was acting up as a child. He held Peter under the arms, and Peter just looked at him for a long time, as if he was processing his father’s upset. Tony’s anger only melted in the slightest when Peter reached out, trying to close the distance Tony had created by holding Peter at such a length. His small hands tried to clasp at Tony’s face, obviously wanting to pacify his father. A sort of apology that only a five-year-old could muster. Peter’s fingers were feather light until they squeezed Tony’s cheeks slightly, maybe smoothing the angry lines.

 

“I’m sorry…” Peter whimpered.

 

Tony was angry, but when Peter’s teary eyes got even more red, he couldn’t help the deeply engrained part of him that had been taught to comfort Peter. To hold him when he cried, because a lot of the time it was all he could do. But this time it was Tony’s anger that had made him upset and Tony finally pulled Peter into himself, no longer dangling him under the arms, but wrapping him in an embrace. Peter’s arms and legs wrapped around him, like the small child he was, and the boy seemed to relax at being held.

 

Peter buried his face in Tony’s shoulder and Tony heard the shaky inhale of a tiny sob. Tony ground his teeth, shutting his eyes as he allowed Peter to draw comfort from him, even though he had been the one to make him cry. Tony breathed, and questioned again, softer, “Why did you leave?”

 

“Yo-you left,” Peter said, “You were mad a-and what if you didn’t come back ‘cause you were _mad_?”

 

The logic behind it didn’t make a whole lot of sense to Tony. He had been mad at The Board, and he didn’t see the correlation of Tony abandoning Peter because he was angry at someone on the phone, but he didn’t even begin to start understanding why Peter thought some of the things he did. Separation had seemed to make the kid anxious from day one. Peter was so used to those boundaries of abandonment being shattered. Tony wondered if Peter would ever recover from all of those things. If he would grow out of it, or if it was something that would cling forever.

 

Tony cupped the back of Peter’s head, turning his own enough to whisper in his ear, “Don’t do that to me again. You wait for me to come back. Understand? Do _not_ scare me like that.”

 

Peter continued to hide his face in Tony’s shoulder, but nodded his head. He buried his fingers deeper in the boy’s hair and turned to face the officers. Pepper was watching, her expression relieved and Happy looked about ready to collapse from the day’s events, as did Tony. Ultimately, Tony supposed his bad feelings about meeting Santa were correct. It hadn’t been worth it. And there hadn’t even been any meeting.

 

…

 

It took forever to get the paperwork done, and Peter’s exhaustion had taken him to sleep.

 

They sat in the front office of the mall, as people milled around behind the glass getting the last of the stuff together so the three adults could leave. Peter’s head hung limply on Tony’s shoulder, body maneuver to lie against him in his lap, feet dangling over the armrest. His mouth was slightly open and his face lax, as if the day’s events hadn’t even transpired so viciously. Happy sighed from where he was sitting on the other side of the room, practically sprawled in the chair…

 

“We need a leash.”

 

Pepper made a disapproving sound, “Happy…”

 

“I mean it,” Happy continued, voice hushed as not to wake Peter, “Kid is reckless, too much like Tony. He’s gonna end up killin’ me. My blood pressure only just got back down into the usual range.”

 

Tony didn’t even bother looking at his bodyguard, he just hummed as he ran a thumb over Peter’s creased brow that had furrowed in response to the voices in the room, and he tried to get it to relax, “Admit it, you love it. You’d be bored otherwise.”

 

Happy scoffed, “Quit talking like that, it’s creepy.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like you’re talking to a baby.”

 

Tony simply raised an eyebrow, finally lifting his head to look at his bodyguard away from his sleeping child, “Is that not what’s happening here?”

 

Happy’s eyes rolled and he looked at the corner of the room, clearly biting his tongue. When he finally did look at Tony, his face was unamused as he gestured to the boy in Tony’s arms with a simple wave of his hand, “I saw how pissed you were. You’re just as upset with him as the rest of us. He’ll probably do it again, ‘cause you got all soft there at the end when he got weepy.”

 

As funny and amusing as Happy was to have around, Tony gritted his jaw in frustration as he held Peter a little closer. Happy was no threat, and it was no secret he loved Peter just like Pepper and Rhodey did, but sometimes he said things without considering them and Happy was hard when he wanted to be. He expected things out of Peter, things that Tony didn’t expect. Maybe Peter should have known better, Tony didn’t know, and Happy wasn’t the villain. But Tony still had a bit of venom in his tone.

 

“What, did you want me to throw down right there in front of everyone? Hit him or something?”

 

Happy looked startled by the question and Pepper let out a sound of discontent, “Tony.”

 

Tony’s guard relaxed, anger melting as soon as it had come. He shifted Peter, his arm falling asleep where most of his weight was in his lap. He sighed deeply, pressing his mouth into a thin line.

 

Howard probably would have hit him.

 

When Happy said nothing, Tony relented, “Sorry…Sorry, Hap I just…I was pissed off. I held it together so some shit like that _wouldn’t_ happen, okay? I will never hit my kid.”

 

A pause.

 

“And it’s a no on the leash.”

 

Happy nodded slowly before he responded, “Alright…but also, know I didn’t mean it like that. Honestly, if I saw you hit the kid, I’d hit you.”

 

Tony’s mouth upturned slightly, because he would let him.


	6. Tales of the Lodge Swimming Pool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only thing Tony could remember about Peter's fall in the pool was a pale face and coughing.
> 
> If it wasn't for Rhodey's and Pepper's insistence, he probably would have never let the four-year-old in another pool.

They had been planning it for a week. Tony and Rhodey.

 

It had been Rhodey’s idea, initially to do it. If it had been up to Tony, Peter would never swim again. Not after what happened all those months ago. He had used the fact that it was November over and over again, the fact that they’d be out of town for Thanksgiving, because he had wanted to bring Peter skiing for the first time. But then Rhodey had so kindly pointed out that the lodge had an indoor pool, it would be the perfect time to teach Peter considering it would be so close. Pepper had been in full support of it, and so Tony was…outnumbered. So he bought water wings, even though Rhodey said the goal was to help the kid not need floaties to help him swim, Tony did it just in case.

 

They had arrived at noon that day, and Happy was already annoyed because he was forced to drag most of the luggage in by himself because Peter ran in and Tony had followed close behind because he knew how the four-year-old operated. He would need to touch everything. It wasn’t a family vacation, so much as Rhodey had just come for a few days before having to return to the airbase and Pepper of course came because SI never slept and neither did Obie. So phone calls would still be coming in one after the other.

 

And then of course, Happy was always with them.

 

The first thing Peter had wanted to get a hold of was the giant bear on the ground. Tony was pretty sure it wasn’t a real pelt, it looked fake enough, but Peter collapsed beside it, a horrified look on his face as he looked up at his father who stood in the doorway. Tony could see the expression, it was Peter’s cry expression, the one that came if he fell too hard or was upset, when they only had a few moments before it would burst at the seams so they weren’t starting the vacation off well. Peter grabbed the bear rug around the neck and exclaimed, “Daddy!”

 

“It’s not real,” Tony assured, approaching his son. He pulled on the tag that was still sticking out the edge, “Look, it’s not. It’s fake.”

 

He had to suppress the laugh that was threatening. He was sorry, but it was _funny_. Peter looked down at it, before patting the bear’s head, his lower lip still trembling. Tony could see his son was struggling to believe him about the bear and Tony reached out, grabbing him under the arms before he lifted him up. Just as he stood to full height and Peter was using his sleeve to clean his eyes, Pepper’s heels clicked, and she rounded the corner into the room, jumping at the sight of the rug on the floor.

 

Her brows were pulled down and she gestured to Peter, “What happened?”

 

“The bear,” Tony explained, “He thought it had been real. It’s store bought – “ He bounced Peter a bit, getting the kid’s attention, “ – your old man wouldn’t get a cabin with real animals.”

 

Peter’s face was still recovering from the scare. Pepper smiled softly, tilting her head as she walked towards them. She reached up and took his cheek gently between her fingers before squeezing and saying, “You wanna come look at the mountains on the terrace, hmmmm? There’s snow and everything.”

 

Peter sniffed but nodded his head. Tony slowly lowered him to the ground and Pepper took him by the hand before leading him to the door. Just as the two of them walked out, Rhodey turned in, watching them leave down the hallway, he then glanced into the room where Tony was still standing and he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. He explained, “Found the pool downstairs. It has a shallow end, but I figure you can just hold him at the beginning until he gets the hang of everything.”

 

Tony leaned back against the couch behind him, “Yeah about that…maybe we shouldn’t do that.”

 

Rhodey raised an eyebrow. The silent disapproving stare was enough to make Tony’s skin crawl as he felt how he used to when he would be too drunk to process anything and Rhodey would stare at him like he was an idiot. Rhodey put his arms over his chest and hummed softly to himself, “You’re avoiding.”

 

“I’m being rational,” Tony replied sharply, “We’ve been on a plane all day, he isn’t going to want to swim. And he’s going to be scared.”

 

Rhodey said, “Sounds like you’re the one who’s scared. And Peter is gonna pick up on that when you’re trying to teach him. Tones…you can’t keep this kid from swimming for the rest of his life. It’s not logical, especially if you plan to raise him in Malibu. You know…where there’re beaches and waves and – “

 

“Okay, this wasn’t an invitation for a lecture,” Tony interrupted sharply, almost pouting like Peter would do when Tony would tell him ‘no’ about something, “He’s not ready. He’s too small, his arms are like noodles, he’s gonna – how’s he gonna tread water, huh?”

 

Rhodey’s mouth upturned slightly and Tony wanted to stomp his foot like a child, petulantly, for how he looked so amused. Rhodey said, “He’ll do it like every other kid does it. There are infants who learn to float, and we’re going to be in the pool with him. You’re being a mother hen.”

 

“Am not.”

 

“You are,” Rhodey insisted, “It’s fine, you know, it’s normal. You remind me of my mom a little bit.”

 

Tony’s eyes narrowed even more. Rhodey cackled in response and he turned, walking towards the door. He called over his shoulder, “Go change! I’m going to tell Pepper that Peter needs to put on his swim trunks and then we’re going downstairs!”

 

…

 

It was warm.

 

The pool was heated and the giant glass windows overlooking the snowy hills surrounding them were fogged over from the steam. It still smelled of ice, even though it was outside, and Tony probably would have found it to be peaceful if his heart wasn’t already racing. Peter was walking with Rhodey a few strides ahead of them as they entered the room, shutting the door behind themselves at the bottom of the stairs. He tossed the towels onto one of the nearby chairs and Tony watched with careful eyes as Rhodey brought Peter near the edge of the pool. Tony almost didn’t follow, until Rhodey glanced back and raised an eyebrow.

 

Right. Right. It wasn’t a big deal. Just show Peter how to doggy paddle.

 

He ignored the way his mind twisted to that night when Peter had fallen in the pool at their Malibu home. The way he had been floating limply above the water. The way his skin had been pale, and how he had sounded when he was choking and coughing up water. Those images had been sticking with him, for what seemed like forever. The entire time Peter had been with him anyway and as he got closer and Rhodey moved away, going to lounge in one of the chairs, Tony suddenly felt utterly alone, holding Peter’s little hand that Rhodey had transferred over to him. Peter looked up, blinking at Tony over his curls and Peter tugged on his limb.

 

“Go in,” Peter ordered his father, knowing the rules very well. That Peter wasn’t allowed in the water unless someone else was there too. Tony stepped in slowly, as if it wasn’t warm, but freezing, but his insides felt like blocks of ice. He took the steps down and Peter clumsily followed, leaning forward to keep a hold on his father’s hand, but his legs not climbing quite quickly enough, causing him to bend over. Tony slowed down to give him time, and maybe the kid could sense Tony’s anxiety, because he was watching him like something was off.

 

Tony let go of his hand.

 

Peter was on the last step and he looked at Tony as if he had just committed a cardinal sin. Peter’s hand reached out and he made grabby fingers towards his father as Tony lowered himself a bit so the water would come up to his shoulders. Peter made a disgruntled sound and ordered, “Come back!”

 

“You follow me,” Tony stated simply, throat closing as he imagined Peter in the water, “I’ll help you, but you walk in on your own this time.”

 

Peter’s hand moved to the metal railing and he worried on his lower lip, blinking at the water. Peter knew the rules. Don’t go in, and clearly he was confused. Peter murmured, “But you – you said I can’t go in if you aren’t holding onto me or if I don’t got floaties.”

 

“Not this time.”

 

“But you said!” Peter argued.

 

Tony shook his head, sighing deeply, “I know what I said, but today you’re gonna learn to swim on your own. I’m going to help you, but I want you to walk in by yourself. Don’t be scared, I’m not gonna let your head go under.”

 

Tony glanced at Rhodey who was watching, looking almost amused by the argument. Rhodey loved when Peter dished Tony’s rules back out at him. He constantly joked about what Tony’s life was going to be like when Peter became a teenager, and this was just a little glimpse. Peter slowly squatted but moved a little down the steps further. Right when he reached the last one, Tony, despite himself, reached out and took Peter to prevent him from stepping off and being submerged. Peter grabbed on tightly and Tony backed up further from the shallow end towards the deeper side, bringing Peter with him until they were where Tony knew for sure Peter couldn’t touch the bottom.

 

He lowered a bit more, and he felt Peter’s fingers dig into his shoulders in response as the boy’s eyes widened a little at having the water rise towards his shoulders. Peter instantly shook his head, “Don’t dunk me.”

 

“I’m not gonna dunk you,” Tony replied, “Uncle Rhodey though, I might dunk him later.”

 

Rhodey glared from where he was seated and Peter questioned, “Pepper too?”

 

“No, never Pepper,” Tony’s eyes widened, “She would be _most_ unhappy. She’d probably never speak to me again, you know?”

 

Peter nodded his head, “Don’t dunk Pepper then.”

 

Tony laughed. Peter would do anything to keep Pepper around. Which sometimes worried him. Tony would probably do the same…he didn’t know what they would do if she decided one day to work somewhere other than Stark Industries. Peter had his arms pretty much wrapped tightly around his father’s neck, and Tony moved his hands under the boy’s arms, beginning to pull him away. Peter squirmed at the action, eyebrows furrowing as he reached back out for his father, and Tony reassured gently, “Hey, hey, hey, I’m not letting go. Alright? It’s like learning to ride your bike. Not letting go until you’re ready.”

 

The concern on Peter’s face stayed a few more moments, but he had begun to kick his feet instead of clinging to Tony so much. Tony shook with anxiety, what if he scared the kid to death? What if he like…traumatized him or something? Peter was blinking and his feet continued to kick as Tony lessened more and more how much of the boy’s weight he was keeping above the water. He walked backwards, bringing Peter forward and he continued to kick his feet. One more glance at Rhodey, and he saw him nod his head, grinning and Tony just wanted to tell him to stop, because he hadn’t done anything right yet.

 

“I could probably be a fish,” Peter said out of the blue, “Or…like the little mermaid?”

 

Tony nodded, “You could. But if you do that I can’t help you. You’ll have to be able to do it on your own.”

 

Peter continued to kick, and he questioned, tilting his head to the side…

 

“You’re not scared, right?”

 

Tony’s brows furrowed, his voice echoing off the water a bit, “Why would I be scared?”

 

“’Cause last time you cried when I swimmed.”

 

Oh. Tony’s face contorted, he didn’t know into what because he couldn’t see, but he tried to hide the fact that the words felt like a punch to the gut. Sometimes he forgot that Peter remembered that night vividly enough to recall that Tony had freaked out. Before Tony could reply, Peter continued quietly, reaching as far as he could to pat the side of his father’s face comfortingly, but instead just getting water all over his cheek, “I don’t want you to be scared.”

 

Tony shook his head. He swallowed. Sometimes he was convinced he had the most perceptive child on the planet for a son.

 

“I’m not scared. Are you?”

 

Peter shook his head.

 

“Okay,” Tony assured, “Then I’ll let go, and you gotta kick your arms and legs. If you start going under I’ll grab a hold of you. But you just gotta doggy paddle, you’ve seen people do that right?”

 

His head went up and down rapidly, eyes lighting up and mouth setting into a strong line. One that said he knew what he was doing. That he was determined to stay afloat. Tony ground his teeth together, and suddenly he realized maybe he was afraid. More afraid than Peter was, clearly. Peter was just worried about his father being frightened, and he was. And he had lied. But slowly, ever so slowly, he willed himself to comply. To watch his son swim for the first time and to forget about the night that had made him realize how difficult it was going to be…being a father.

 

Tony breathed…

 

And released.

 

…

 

It took a few times.

 

Within five minutes, Peter was treading water.

 

Within fifteen he was doggy paddling.

 

Within an hour, he was basically a fish.

 

The kid still didn’t want to be dunked, but Rhodey and Tony had mercy on him and didn’t splash or try such jokes. They’d give it some time before they tried games like chicken and marco polo. Instead they just let Peter swim round and round in the pool until eventually he was left clinging to the edge, too tired to do much more. Then dinner arrived, Peter was starving from working himself so hard to get the hang of everything. The kid always pushed himself to be good at activities. It was clear this was something that would take a few more practice runs, but Peter was giddy with his new-found skill.

 

Tony washed the chlorine from his son’s hair that night.

 

Once Peter was dressed in his moon pajamas, the kid ran into the adjoining bedroom, jumping onto the bed and hopping around. The television was on when Tony came in, playing something on the history channel. The narrator’s English accent flitted through the room, catching Tony’s attention as he threw Peter’s bath towel in the hamper near the foot of the bed. On the black and white footage was a familiar face that Tony had seen in pictures and old films of his father’s.

 

_“Captain America, the war hero that sacrificed everything for his country and turned the tides in the second World War.”_

It showed the man, with his shield. Tony tilted his head, a bit of that same jealousy sparking up that he would always feel when his father would brag about how amazing Captain America was. Another picture appeared on the screen…this time even more familiar…

 

_“Inventor, Howard Stark, is credited with assisting in the creation of the super soldier serum, alongside Doctor Abraham Erskine. The serum continues to be one of the only of its kind to this day.”_

When the picture flashed across the screen, Peter’s high-pitched voice squealed, “Grandad!”

Tony looked at him, feeling deeply disturbed at the recognition. Showing Peter pictures of his grandparents wasn’t something Tony did. Confusion flitted through…As much as he had wanted to tell Peter about Maria, it had always felt a bit painful. So for him to recognize Howard, seemingly out of nowhere, it was startling. Peter was smiling at Tony though, and then at the television. Tony moved between the screen and Peter. Where he was standing on the mattress, they were nearly the same height. Tony’s brows were pulled downward as he whispered, “What did you say?”

 

“Grandad!” Peter repeated, same enthusiasm, same smile. Peter cupped his father’s face like he often did when he felt his dad wasn’t hearing him correctly, “He’s your daddy! You know him!”

 

Tony swallowed thickly, “How do _you_ know him?”

 

“Miss Thacker taught us – she taught us ummmm,” Peter thought hard. It must have been difficult for a four-year-old to remember the exact source of information or where it had come from deep in his mind, “ – he made the future.”

 

He paused, then continued, “And she said he’s my grandad.”

 

Peter moved his hands from Tony’s face to his shoulders. He stood on his tippy toes and asked, “Do you make the future too?”

 

Tony was still reeling from the fact that Peter had been able to recognize Howard’s picture on the television. He might have even felt a bit nauseous because of it. He didn’t know how to answer that question. Sure he made the future, but what kind of future? Weapons. He made weapons. Peter waited for Tony to respond, and finally he did, “Sometimes.”

 

“Will I make the future?”

 

“If you want to,” Tony answered, hesitant, “Only if you want to.”

 

Peter seemed to think about it. He pursed his lips, almost like an old man, eyes lifting to the ceiling before he looked back at his father. The boy’s head nodded up and down, “Yeah, and you can help, all the time…So we stay together.”

 

Tony didn’t know why his eyes started to burn at that. So he placed a hand on the back of his son’s head and pressed a kiss to the side of his temple, before wrapping him in an embrace so Peter couldn’t see his eyes or his face. He squeezed Peter so tightly the boy squirmed a bit and chastised, “You’re gonna crush me.”

 

The man laughed a bit…

 

“Sorry, kiddo, ten more seconds, I don’t make the rules.”


End file.
